Half Life
by Moon Raven2
Summary: In this follow up to "Half of Something Else," Meg struggles with the fallout from her confrontation with Crowley, Cas worries about Naomi's continued control over his mind, and the boys seek to close the Gates of Hell. Megstiel. ... Chapter 9: Mist, in which Adam reunites with his brothers, Meg meets her psychopomp, and Cas is left adrift
1. Enter the Prophet

**Half Life**

**a/n: **Here we go, as promised, the sequel to "Half of Something Else." I would recommend reading that one if you haven't. It isn't _strictly_ necessary, but there are definitely things that'll confuse you. This picks up within hours of where "Something Else" leaves off, so...yeah.

As I said in my last author's note for Half1, I have a ton of ideas for this story; however, I am struggling just a bit to transfer those ideas onto paper. Your kind and generous reviews are always very helpful for inspiration!

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**Chapter 1: Enter the Prophet**

**I keep trying to understand  
This thing and that thing,  
My fellow man.  
I guess I'll let you know  
When I figure it out.**  
-Duncan Sheik, "Half-life"

Dean stuck his head around the heavy metal door and glanced around. "If anyone's fuckin' in here, it better not be on the table! People eat on that table!"

"Dean, geez," Sam said from behind him.

"What? I'm not kidding."

"Would you just go inside? This thing is heavy as hell, and I'm beat."

Dean opened the door wider and let Sam go ahead of him. He followed his brother inside and secured the door behind them. The bunker's main room looked empty, and someone had cleaned up. The books had been put away, and all the old beer bottles cleared out. The door to Meg's room was closed, but within a few minutes it opened and Cas appeared.

Sam set the lockbox on the table with a relieved sigh. "Hey, Cas," he said. "Everything okay here?"

"All is well. Meg is resting. She was…wounded in the confrontation with Crowley and might be some time recovering."

"Wounded?" Dean said. "She's a demon. Don't they have super healing powers kinda like angels?"

He hesitated. After the strange incident in the shower, they hadn't discussed her injury or its possible implications. They hadn't discussed anything at all. She'd fallen asleep curled against him, and he'd watched over her and waited for the Winchesters to return. He had no idea how much, if anything, she wanted them to know.

"Crowley stabbed her with an angel blade. It is not a typical injury," he finally said.

Sam grimaced in sympathy. "She's gonna be all right though, won't she?"

Cas' expression stilled. His eyes flicked away. "We should find out what's inside the box."

Dean and Sam exchanged long, wordless looks."Yeah, Cas," Dean finally said. "Let's do that." Whatever was up with Meg, Cas would either tell them, or he wouldn't. Either way, there wasn't much they could do about it now, and they had other things to worry about.

"Have you heard anything from Naomi?" Sam said as Dean went off in search of a hammer and a crowbar.

"Nothing since we left Marguerite, at least that I know of. Meg hasn't mentioned any lapses on my part, so I think for now I'm in the clear. The wards here help, I'm sure." His brow furrowed and he looked around. "Sometime you'll have to tell me about this place."

"It was sort of a gift. From our grandfather."

"Samuel?"

"No," Sam said. "The other one. Henry Winchester."

"Ah, yes. I do recall that the Winchester line was the intellectual side of the family." He studied Sam carefully, his eyes dark and probing. "There is great power here, Sam. I hope you and Dean understand the responsibility you've been given."

"I think we've got some idea, Cas. We're legacies, after all," Dean said with a grin. He clapped the angel on the shoulder and brandished the tools he'd found. "Let's see what's in the box!"

"I'm uncertain force will produce the desired results," Cas said. "Remy would have taken precautions."

"Hum," Dean said. "I've met very few problems that couldn't be solved with a good crowbar. Besides, that lock looks like shit. One good smack. Sammy?"

Sam held out his hands and Dean tossed the crowbar to him. The elder Winchester appraised the box from various angles before he took a step back and raised the hammer. Cas shifted nervously but decided against further intercession. Dean cast a smirk over his shoulder at the angel and his brother and took a huge swing at the rickety old box.

There was a deafening _clang_ like a mighty bell, and a blinding flash. Dean was thrown backwards into Sam, and they tumbled like rag dolls until the wall stopped them. Cas staggered against the force of the blast, and as the tumult quieted, he raised his head to wipe a trickle of blood from his nose. Meg's door opened behind them and the demon stumbled out, her hands clasped over her ears.

"What the _fuck_ did you morons just do?" she cried.

"Jesus Christ," Dean said. He couldn't move. For a few panicked heartbeats he thought he'd been really hurt, like paralyzed or something. Then he realized he was just stunned by the blast, and he slowly lurched to his feet and helped Sam up next to him. They reeled like drunkards and leaned against the wall as the bunker spun around them in identical ringing orbits.

"Think I'm gonna puke," Sam muttered.

"Is the room actually moving, or is it me?" Dean said.

"Neither, you idiot," Meg said with disgust. She handed Sam a trashcan and led him to a chair. When she came back for Dean he tried to resist, but she smacked him on the shoulder and he gave up. When they were both seated she gave Cas a tissue and fixed all three of them with a stern death glare. She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a small bare foot against the cold stone floor.

"Okay. Now who's gonna tell me what's going on out here? Recreating Three Mile Island for shits and giggles?"

"I did say force was a bad idea," Cas said. He sagged into a chair and pressed the tissue against his nose. His coat looked more rumpled than ever, and his hair stood up in a corona around his head.

Meg's brows flicked toward her hairline and she circled the table. "Is this it?" she said. "This old thing is what Remy was hiding in his house?" She reached out a tentative hand to touch the rusting lockbox, but hesitated before her fingers made contact with the metal. "What's in it?"

"That's what we were trying to find out," Dean said in a worn voice. "Clearly a hammer was a bad idea."

She cast around a moment and scampered off. Returned with a barely recognizable bit of metal and tossed it on the table. "This hammer? Yeah, I'd say that was a bust."

"Guess the crowbar's out," Sam said. He made a face at the trashcan and set it aside.

She leaned closer and studied the box through narrow eyes. She moved her left shoulder in an odd, restless sort of way, and eventually she reached up to rub it distractedly. Cas frowned, and Sam and Dean exchanged a loaded look.

"Meg," Cas said, his voice steady and quiet.

"It's got some serious mojo, but that's obvious. There's angel shit goin' on, but somethin' else, too. I guess that's probably Remy's work." Her head tilted. "Warded. Against angels. Demons, too. Not humans. Probably not humans. You could probably find these wards in your books and undo them without big nasty explosions."

A silence fell.

"You can tell all that just by lookin' at it?" Dean said.

She glanced back, her mouth twisted in a droll smile. "Cas could too if he'd just bothered. Maybe not the demon part, but he doesn't like to sully his sweet innocence." She winked at him, and he shifted in his seat.

"You should step away, Meg," he said.

"What? You think I'm gonna try to mess with your angel business? Hell no. I don't want these anti-demon things to fry my brain."

"No, it's not that." He touched her arm and pulled her back, gently but firmly.

"What, Clarence? I'm tryin' to _help_ here. Unruffle your feathers!"

He let out an impatient sigh. "It's your wound. It glows brighter when you get close to the box. It was bothering you when you were close to it, wasn't it?"

She looked away with a scowl.

"Meg, I could tell."

"We all could," Sam said after a moment.

"You told them?" she said to Cas, a whip-sharp accusation.

"I told them a little. They should know what's happening, Meg, but I'll only tell them as much as you wish."

"That's bullshit," Dean said. "We need to know what's up with you, Meg. If you want to be here, if you want us to help you—"

"Help me? Dean Winchester, help a demon? You must've hit your head harder than I thought."

"Oh, get off it." He rose to his feet, his legs still shaky, and squared off in front of her. She was such a tiny thing that sometimes he had to remind himself how powerful she really was. Now, when he felt weakened by the weird explosion and the room had the sickening tendency to take unexpected loops and dives, it was more important than ever to remember.

"Look, I don't pretend to understand what's goin' on between you and Cas. You're a demon, he's an angel, it's some sort of weird 'opposites attract' type thing. Okay, whatever. Bottom line is my idiot buddy, the holy tax accountant who's like another brother to me, cares about you. As much as I hate to admit it, you've come through for us when it's mattered. You've come through for Cas. It doesn't cancel out the shit you did before, but…whatever.

"I said we were with you, and that means _you're_ with _us_. You got that? That means if you're hurt and you need help, we fuckin' help you. You don't want to tell us what's going on, that's just fine. But remember that we're tryin' really hard to trust you, Meg, and maybe to do that we need a little bit of trust from you, too."

She crossed her arms again and smiled up at him, sharp and teasing. Despite her struggle to hide it, something flickered through her eyes, something real, and he saw the pain and fear she hated so much and he understood it.

"You are havin' one hell of a bad year, aren't you?" he said.

She let out a rough laugh. "Yeah, Deano, I sure as fuck am." She sighed and rubbed her forehead, mussing her bangs and attempting to soothe the tension there. "Crowley stabbed me with an angel sword. It should've killed me, but I guess because it missed anything vital, I live to fight another day. Apparently it created some sort of…permanent wound in my true form, my demon self. Clarence can see it. I can feel it." She shrugged her good shoulder. "Neither of us really knows what it means."

"Is it reversible?" Sam said.

"Not that I know of," said Cas. "But I've never seen anything quite like this, so perhaps there is a way."

"What'll happen if you can't heal it?" Dean said.

"I don't know," Cas said, tone dark. "A demon marked by Grace. A walking paradox. How can such a creature exist?"

Her mouth twisted. "Thanks, Clarence. You really know how to sweet talk a girl."

"It was not my intention—"

She held up a hand. "Forget it, feathers. Listen, boys, it gets me all warm inside that you care. Really. Just like hot chocolate on Christmas morning, the kind with the little marshmallows and everything. But the tree topper said it: there's nothing any of us can do. So why work ourselves up about it? Life goes on, and we've got bigger things to worry about than one little demon with one little unprecedented, incurable wound."

Cas blinked. He turned to Dean. "Was that—?"

"Sarcasm, Cas."

"So does that mean—?"

"Don't bring it up again."

"Ah. Thank you."

"Yep. Don't mention it."

"Okay," Meg said. "Glad we got that cleared up. Now, about your angel box. When Clarence and I—"

Dean's phone interrupted her, and she glared at him. "Seriously?"

"Sorry. Probably not important since I give this number out to everybody. _Oh wait_." He flashed a brittle smile and checked the Caller ID. "It's Kevin."

Sam sat up and gestured for Dean to answer. He hit _send_. "Hey, Kev, what's up?"

Meg leaned down next to Cas. "Prophet boy, huh?" she said, pitching her voice low enough that Sam and Dean couldn't hear over Dean's tense conversation.

"Yes," he said with a slight nod. "He's been working on the demon tablet. Perhaps he has information on the next trial."

"You mentioned the trials to Crowley. What's up with that?"

Cas frowned and cut his eyes toward her. She was a demon, and it made him uncomfortable discussing this with her. Once they closed the Gates, she would be drawn into Hell with the rest of her brethren, and it wasn't an idea he relished. "Kevin discovered that three trials must be completed to close the Gates of Hell. The first was bathing in the blood of a Hellhound."

"Ugh."

He acknowledged the sentiment with a brief flicker of his brows. "Sam completed the first trial, so now he must complete the other two."

"Sam?"

"You sound surprised."

She shrugged. Winced a bit. "Seems like mother hen over there wouldn't let baby brother take on something like that, especially considering the whole 'recovering demon blood addict' issue. The only person our dear Deanikins completely trusts is our dear Deanikins."

"Yes," he said softly, "that's true. Dean and I have not had a chance to discuss the issue in depth. I only know what I do from…observation."

"Observation? You mean spying. You spy on them. That's damn kinky, Clarence."

He cleared his throat and looked away. "I merely check in from time to time. I recognize the human need for privacy, even if I don't fully understand it." He hesitated. "What happened earlier, with Crowley…" He lifted his head and their eyes locked; his were a blaze of blue. "Perhaps I understand a bit more, now."

She blinked, and it was her turn to look away. "It was nothing, Clarence. Taking my clothes off in front of a crowd is small potatoes compared to…" She let the thought wither and shook her head. Her mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "It was a really long year," she finally said.

"Yeah, buddy, we're on the way. Hang tight." Dean rapped his knuckles against the table to get their attention and pointed at the phone. "No, listen, we'll bring you here. We've got a place, and we've got some stuff going on that we can't really step away from. Cas and I'll be there in five. Eat a damn banana and take a shower, okay?" He hung up the phone and rolled his eyes a little. "Kid sounds like he's wound tighter than a virgin on prom night."

"Well, Dean, last time we saw him you gave him a giant bottle of uppers," Sam said, "so I can't really blame him."

"I gave him downers, too. He's supposed to be balancing."

"Great. You've got your prophet reenacting _Requiem for a Dream_. Real smooth, genius," Meg said with a shake of her head.

He ignored her. "Cas, I told him we'd go to Garth's boat and pick him up. You up for it?"

"Yes, Dean. I'm recovered from the explosion. Are you ready?" Cas reached for him, but Dean pulled back.

"You know, on second thought, maybe take Sammy. My head's still ringin' from that stupid thing, and I'm not sure if I can deal with any more angel shit right now."

Cas' head tilted and he studied him with concern. "As you wish," he said. "Sam?"

"Yeah." The younger Winchester clambered to his feet. "Let's go."

Cas grabbed his arm, and they blinked away.

Meg glanced over at Dean with a knowing smile. "Head still ringing. Right."

"What?" he said with big, innocent eyes.

"You didn't want to leave me alone in your Bat Cave with baby brother because you're worried that he trusts me too much. That I'd take advantage of him. I'm good, sweetheart, but I'm not sure even I could work that fast. They'll be back before the ice cream melts."

His mouth quirked. He dodged around her to grab a beer out of the fridge. Gestured toward her with the bottle and grabbed a second one when she nodded. "I think I've made my feelings about this whole thing pretty clear."

"Yeah, pretty boy," she said as she twisted off the cap. "You're not exactly a mystery."

He took a long swig and eyed her over the bottle. "Could you just tell me one thing."

"I'm an open book, sugar. What do you wanna know?"

His brow creased. The beer's label had come loose at one corner, and he fiddled with it. "I just…why Cas? Isn't it weird? He's, like…your natural enemy. Back when we met Anna, Ruby was with us, and they both flipped out. Anna wasn't even an angel then, but it was like oil and water on steroids."

She was silent for so long he thought she wasn't going to answer, but finally she stirred. "I don't know. That's lame as hell, and it sounds like a copout, but honestly. I can't explain it. It's like my whole fucking existence I've fought and fought and burned and hated and hurt, but when I'm with him, a little of that eases. It should scare the hell out of me, and maybe it does, but at the same time, it's like…wow. Quiet. So quiet.

"Then he's gone and all that…_noise_…comes rushing back, and I just want the quiet again. It's not something I should want, and I don't know how to make sense of it. I stopped trying a while ago." Her mouth quirked. "A century of unending torment kind of puts things into perspective."

He stared at her as he mulled it over. Finally, "If something happens to him because of you, I'll hunt you down and skin you alive."

Her smile turned to sweet poison. "Oh, pretty boy, don't you know?" She took a drag off her beer and gave a rueful shake of her head. "If something happens to him because of me, you won't have to."

There was the sound of wings somewhere behind them, and Kevin's small exhalation of surprise. "We've returned with the prophet," Cas said.

"Awesome," said Dean, his eyes still locked on Meg's.

"Brilliant," she said. "Let's get this party started."

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_Ok, here's something: I started writing "Half of Something Else" (heretofore referred to as "H1" b/c its acronym is HoSE, and that's fuckin ridiculous) right after 8x14 aired, so it was before we knew that the trials were making Sam sick. I really do want to work that in somewhere, but at this point it almost feels like "oh, btw..." So I dunno. We'll see. Obviously this whole situation is AU post 8x14._

_Reviews! Reviews get you a beer or two in the bunker with Sam and Dean. Maybe Cas'll pop in to act confused at your pop culture references and y'all'll all have a laugh._


	2. A Psychopomp

**a/n: **Hi again, dear readers. I'm glad so many of you are excited about this story! I know I am. Let's get started...

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**Chapter 2: A Psychopomp**

**You people talk about the living and the dead as if they were two mutually exclusive categories. As if you cannot have a river that is also a road, or a song that is also a color.**  
-Neil Gaiman, _American Gods_

Kevin looked even worse than he had a few days ago, and Dean thought maybe Sam had been right about the pills. The kid was pale and jittery, and it was obvious he hadn't been sleeping. Again. Still.

"Kev, man. When was the last time you ate?" Dean said.

He ran a hand through his short black hair and shook his head in a quick, jerky way. "Um, I don't know. You told me to eat a banana, but we were out of bananas. Garth stopped by yesterday, or maybe two days ago, and got some supplies for me, but I ate everything, and he forgot to get bananas. If you have any bananas here I'll eat one. I'm allergic to tomatoes, though, so not tomatoes. What is this place?"

"Whoa, buddy, take a breath!" Dean said. "Here, sit down." He cast a loaded glance at Sam, and he grimaced.

"He's been like this since we got there. You turned him into a speed freak, Dean. His mom is gonna kick your ass."

Dean looked so alarmed at the idea that Meg snorted. "What, his mom some sort of body builder chick or something?"

Sam's face creased. "About your size," he said. At Meg's incredulous look, he held up his hands. "She punched Crowley in the face once."

"She hired a witch off Craig's List," Kevin said.

"She kidnapped a demon and trapped him in the trunk of her car," said Sam.

"She's really scary," Dean said with a wince.

She gave Cas an _are these three kidding me with this shit?_ look, but Cas merely blinked at her.

"Mrs. Tran is a formidable woman," he said.

"No one's calling my mom. She's fine where she is. I'm not hungry. I've got a lot to tell you guys, and I don't really have time to eat."

"Hey," Dean said with a careless shrug, "it's fine. We get it. Work's important. You're a driven guy. I was just gonna pop to the kitchen and whip up some burgers. I make _awesome_ burgers. You don't want one, that's cool. More for me and Sam, since the other two don't eat."

"I would enjoy a burger," said Cas.

"What the hell. If the winged avenger's eating, I might as well, too," Meg drawled. "Since he's cooking for everybody, I think I'm safe from Deano tryin' to poison me."

Kevin's eyes darted back and forth between them. "I remember you," he said. "Aren't you a demon?"

Her mouth curved and she fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I'm flattered, sweet cheeks. You've grown up since the last time I saw you."

"Yeah. Two years on the run will do that."

"Tell me about it." She jerked her chin toward the bag he clutched like a lifeline. "That thing's burnin' you up, kid. You should listen to big brother Dean and take a break. There's nothin' you have to say that can't be said over a nice cheeseburger."

He cradled the bag against his chest and glared at her. "What would you know about it?"

"I'm a demon, honey. What's more, I was Alastair's golden girl for more centuries than you got fingers and toes. When it comes to burning people up, a better question would be what _don't_ I know about it." She tilted her head toward Cas. "Ask the angel. He can see it, too."

"It's true, Kevin. To be a prophet is a grave responsibility. Most of them have, as Meg says, burned out before their time. I remember Luke—"

"Yeah, yeah, always with the stories about Luke," Dean said. "Why don't you put the bag down and go get cleaned up. Nothing can get in here. No one can find you here. You have my personal guarantee. Okay?"

He blinked hard at Dean, his pupils tiny and eyes roaming Dean's face like searchlights. Finally he handed the bag over to Sam. "Every time you see me you're making me shower and eat. It's ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous is that I have to _make_ you do those things. The bathroom's that way." He jerked his thumb behind him, and after a moment Kevin shuffled off, his shoulders slumped and his hands jammed in his pockets. Dean rolled his eyes and disappeared into the kitchen.

Sam set the duffle on the table next to Remy's lockbox and went to find his laptop. Meg shrugged her good shoulder at Cas and wandered into the stacks to find the book they'd need to undo the wards on the box. Cas started opening some of the nearby storage drawers and poking around their contents.

A few moments later Kevin stuck his head around the bathroom door. "What the hell happened in here?" he said. "I stepped on a bottle of Old Spice body wash and nearly broke my neck."

There was the sound of a book hitting the ground and then Meg's voice, low and smoky with barely contained mirth. "Oops."

* * *

They had burgers and chips with beer (even Kevin had a beer, because, Jesus, if a kid has to suddenly devote his life to deciphering the Word of God and outrunning angels and demons he can have a fucking _beer_), and for nearly an hour no one mentioned tablets or Gates or mind control. They made jokes and told stories and actually _laughed_.

Meg teased Sam about his fashion sense (or, in her opinion, lack thereof). Dean gave her shit about all the new chick stuff in the shower. Kevin made some obscure math joke that only Cas got, because, he said, math was a universal language that governed the spheres. ("Whatever" was the general consensus to that one.)

When they were finished, Sam collected the dishes and dropped them in the kitchen sink with a clatter they could hear out in the common room. When he got back he passed out another round of beer—a Coke for Kevin this time—and settled down in his chair. He reached out a long arm and dragged Kevin's bag to the center of the table, and suddenly the tablet was very much in focus again.

"Okay, kid," Dean said, "lay it on us. What's up with this second trial?"

Kevin set his drink aside and leaned forward, expression eager and hands moving as he spoke. "It's a hairy one, you guys. I mean, not hair like the last one. No dogs involved. Just hairy as in…really scary and weird."

Dean made a _get on with it gesture_. "We get it."

"Right. So. Assuming I'm reading it right—and I am—then the second trial is freeing an innocent soul from Hell. Sam has to go down there and get someone out, like an actual, full-on rescue mission." He paused. Glanced around to make sure they were all listening. They were. "To Hell. And back."

There was a long silence as they all absorbed the announcement and tried to make sense of it. Dean recovered first.

"An innocent soul?" he said. "You mean like Adam?"

"Who's Adam?" Meg said.

"Their brother," said Cas. "He was Michael's vessel when Sam pulled Lucifer and Michael into the cage."

Her eyes went wide. "You're fucking kidding me."

"What?" Dean said. "He's innocent. He doesn't deserve to be in Hell."

"No shit. I get that part. That's not what I'm talking about."

"What, then?" Sam said.

She waved an impatient hand. "Your brother isn't just chillin' in the lobby, boys. He's down in the cage. The fucking _cage_. You can't get him out."

Sam got that stubborn look on his face, all tight jaw and narrow eyes. "I can try. If I have to go down there and get someone out, then I want it to be him. He shouldn't be there."

"No, Sam, you can't." The Winchesters both glared at her, and she let out a short sigh. "I'm not trying to be a bitch here. I'm being realistic. Look, there's a saying we have down there—all the levels of Dante's Hell. You guys have read Dante, right?"

Blank looks all around, except from Cas and Kevin. "Sam, really? You haven't read Dante?"

He shrugged. "I was pre-law."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Dante was this guy back in Florence who was in love with this chick Beatrice, like crazy in love. She died, and he lost his shit. He was also exiled from Florence for…well basically for calling some important city guys out on their bullshit, so he was sorta bitter about it. Anyway, this douchebag angel called Virgil—"

"Hey, Virgil!" Dean said. "We met him. He _was_ a douche."

"Right? Anyway, he gave Dante a tour of Hell, and Dante wrote this fuckin' book about it. Holy shit, the reno we had to go through after all that fucking bullshit.…Anyway, point is, one thing didn't change, and still hasn't changed even after all of Crowley's 'improvements.' The cage is still at the bottom. The very fucking bottom beneath the torture chambers and the rivers and the damned souls and the frozen lake. No, you won't find a giant frozen three-headed effigy with Judas in one mouth and poor little Adam Winchester in the other, but still. You can't get there."

"I can _try_!" Sam said again, voice rising and nearly breaking on the last word.

"Sam, for fuck's sake, _listen_ to me! You _can't_. You can't get there, and even if you could, you couldn't get inside the cage. And even if you could, you wouldn't want to. And even if you _did_, you _couldn't_." She leaned across the table and looked him square in the eye. "There. Is. No. Way." Her voice softened. "I'm sorry, Sam. It's just not possible."

There was a long silence while Sam brooded and Dean fiddled with the cap from his beer.

"We don't have Death's ring anymore anyway," Sam finally said.

She flicked her fingers. "Matter settled. Trust me, Sam. I know how this bugs you, but let it go."

"I feel like an asshole."

"Of course you do. Your brother's burning in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. Poor kid. But even if you did get him out now, how long has he been down there? You were in that cage a year and look at the state your soul was in when you got it back. I sat with this bozo for months while he worked through all your cage-induced issues."

Meg shook her head and sat back. "There's nothing left of Adam, Sam. Rings or no rings, even if you could just walk into Mordor, all you'd find is two really pissed off archangels ready to buttfuck you into the next millennium."

"Yeah," he said, his voice hollow. "I get it." He paused. "It was a nice idea, though."

"Yeah," she echoed. "It was a perfectly Winchester idea."

Dean cut his eyes over at Cas. "Does it ever freak you out how these two are sorta Vulcan mind melded?"

He shifted in his seat. "I don't understand that reference…but, yes. Their connection can be unnerving."

"Okay, so, no Adam," Dean said. "Who, then? Does the tablet have anything specific?"

"No," Kevin said with a regretful shake of his head. "It just says an innocent soul. You guys have to know someone who went to Hell and didn't deserve it."

"It happens all the time," Meg said.

Their eyes swiveled toward her and she shrugged. "What? Don't look so surprised. People make deals for all sorts of reasons. Some of them are shit like a bigger dick, but others are genuinely selfless. A dad wants his sick kid to get better. Or a wife wants her husband to come home safe from war. And if you make a deal as a kid, it isn't supposed to count at all. Too innocent to know what you're doing." Her head tilted as she considered. "Those are just the deals, but it's harder to wrongly end up in Hell without a deal. Maybe if you piss off the wrong demon…or the wrong angel."

"Didn't Bela make her deal when she was just a kid? Wasn't it to save herself from her rapist dad?" Sam said.

"Ugh," said Meg. "Yeah, that deal was a stinker. She probably shouldn't be downstairs, depending."

"She was a professional thief and con artist," Dean said. "I think she earned it."

"It's much harder to get into Hell than many believe," Cas said. "Thievery ranks very low on damnable sins."

"Seriously? _Bela Talbot_ is our innocent soul? _That's_ what we're goin' with?"

"What's the matter, Deanikins? Is it because she was a thief, or because she was a _lady_ thief? Did she make you feel all tingly in your naughty bits? Or maybe she—_gasp_—outsmarted the great Dean Winchester, _while_ making you feel all tingly in your naughty bits, and that was just _so confusing_ for you that there's _no way_ such a crazy bitch deserves your big bad Winchester Hell save."

She stood up and tossed her hair back. "You know what? I think I'm done with this conversation. Why don't you boys just let me know when you decide who's _worthy_ of your help, and I'll come a-runnin'. In the meantime I'll be in my room with my stupid cat." She snagged the books she'd found and sauntered toward her door.

Sam pulled a face at his brother and made a small, exasperated noise. "Meg—"

"Forget it, Sammy," she said over her shoulder. "Like I said, work it out. You know where I'll be." The door slammed behind her, and a strained silence fell.

"I just think there are probably people more deserving than Bela. That's all I meant," Dean said with a grumble.

"Kevin, how do we even figure it out? Do we just go to Hell with some sort of innocent soul divining rod? Do we pull names out of a hat?"

"I would recognize an innocent soul," Cas said. "Unfortunately, my presence in Hell would be detected immediately. I would be more hindrance than help to you there."

Dean drummed his fingers against the table. "What about Meg?"

"She would know as well, especially considering what she used to do there."

Dean remembered, briefly and unpleasantly, his time as Alastair's apprentice. Part of the job had been, as Cas said, assessing the souls. You had to know their sins before you started, because that's how you knew how to hurt them the most. He remembered the way Meg had ripped him apart over not being there when Cas needed him, how perfectly each word had sliced into him until he'd bled. He cleared his throat and looked away, and his voice was rough when he finally found it again.

"Yeah, Meg would know."

"She knows her way around Hell, too," Sam said.

"Does the tablet say if this has to be a solo gig?" Dean said.

Kevin shook his head. "Sam has to do the heavy lifting, but it doesn't say anything about not having a guide." His mouth lifted. "Isn't that how it's supposed to be anyway? Dante had Virgil, right? She can be your psychopomp."

"My…what?" Sam said.

"_Psychopomp_. Guide to the afterlife. The psychopomp escorts the newly deceased soul to…wherever they're going."

"I'm not gonna be _dead_, Kevin." He paled and his eyes darted from the prophet to Dean and back again. "Am I?" he said in a strained voice.

"You gotta come back," Kevin said, "so I'd say no. Definitely not." He glanced down at his notebook. "Really probably not."

"Oh God," Sam muttered.

Dean waved a hand. "No one's dying. We'll figure out how to get you to Hell alive, and you'll probably need one of these…psychopomps to do that. Douchebag angel or demon with an attitude problem. Choice's yours, Sammy."

"Perhaps we should ask Meg before we make plans on her behalf," Cas said with an uneasy glance at her closed door. "I'm sure she won't be eager to return to Hell, considering Crowley is hunting her and her previous experience was…hardly pleasant."

"She said she wanted to help, didn't she?" Dean said.

"Cas's right, Dean. It's asking a lot."

He scrubbed a hand over his face and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Jesus fucking Christ, how had his life come to this? "Yeah, fine, you're right. Maybe you could ask her, Cas. Sweet talk her or somethin'. Surely you've got some tricks up your khaki sleeve."

"I will do what I can."

There was an expectant silence as they stared at him. He stared back, expression mild and guileless. Finally Dean said, "Maybe you should start now."

"Ah." Cas rose from his chair and started toward the door. Stopped part way there and made a half turn back. "Meg is not overly fond of 'sweet talk.'"

"Cas, Jesus. Just go ask her."

He hesitated before he returned to the table and carefully placed his angel blade on it. "It would be best if I were unarmed."

Dean and Sam shared a glance that fell somewhere between amused and exasperated, but before either of them could think of anything to say, Cas had knocked on the door and gone in.

Dean sat back in his chair and swallowed the last of his beer. "I don't know, man. I think I'm beginnin' to get what he sees in her."

* * *

_I have a feeling this is another one of my fics that's gonna get kinda weird before all's said and done, e.g. "Into the Blue", "Isn't it Wonderful?", and "The Girl Without a Name". I'm cool with that. Hope you guys are, too._

_Reviews will get you a Dean Winchester cheeseburger, served by a proud-as-punch Dean Winchester. Sammy can serve the salad, if yer so inclined._


	3. It's the Life

**a/n: **8x19's total and complete butchery of demon and reaper canon threw me a bit, but I'm gonna ignore all of it. 8x19, like parts of 8x17, is dead to me.

Here we are back in our "only up through 8x14" universe, dear readers. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 3: It's the Life**

**What with all my expectations long abandoned  
And my solitary nature notwithstanding,  
You're the one who pulled me out of that crash landing,  
My stunning mystery companion.  
**-Jackson Browne, "My Stunning Mystery Companion"

Meg didn't look up when Cas ducked into her room. She had a stack of books at her elbow and one propped on her chest. Desdemona was curled up next to her shoulder and appeared to be following along as Meg read. Occasionally she would touch the page with her paw, and Meg would bat her away.

Cas cleared his throat and tucked his hands in his trench coat pockets. Meg lifted a brow but kept reading. "Can I help you, Clarence?" she said.

"How are you feeling?" he said, hoping to stall a few moments.

"I'm fine. Busy, actually, so maybe you should get on with it. What ridiculously perilous situation do the Winchesters want me to put myself in now?"

He stepped closer to the bed, and Desdemona gave up on the book and sashayed toward him with a curious little mew of greeting. He scratched behind her ears and she purred. Meg rolled her eyes. "You and that cat. Why don't I just move out and leave you two alone?"

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

She dropped the book and sighed. "Never mind. Since I guess you're not gonna spit it out, I will. They want me to go to Hell, don't they?"

His mouth twisted and he shuffled his feet. "Ah, Meg—"

"Don't bother," she said with a quelling gesture. "I knew it'd come down to that. Little Sammy Winchester's gonna need a psychopomp, and who else is qualified? You? Hardly. You'd have half a legion on your feathery ass before you got your big toe in the door."

His eyes roamed the small room. Finally he picked Desdemona up and sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to Meg. She watched the tense set of his shoulders, the stiff cant of his head, and despite the soft words he whispered to the cat, she knew how upset he was.

She caught her lip between her teeth. How had it come to this? An angel and a demon, bound together in a way that was never meant to be. Now he was asking her to possibly sacrifice herself for the people he loved, and what's more…she was going to do it. She was going to take Sam Winchester into Hell, and there was a very real chance she might not come back.

"I'm sorry," he said without turning. "I wish we knew some other way. I wish I didn't have to ask. It's too much. If Crowley—"

"I've told you before, feathers: let _me_ worry about Crowley."

"I wish you would tell me what he did, Meg. I would like to know so that I can help you."

"I don't know how you knowing would help anything."

He hesitated. His chin tilted toward her. "Perhaps it would help _me_."

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her silence lasted so long he was sure she wouldn't answer, but at last she said, "Think of something, Clarence. The worst thing. The most painful. The bloodiest. The most humiliating. The fastest. The slowest. The sloppiest. The most precise."

He swallowed. "Yes…?"

He hadn't felt or heard her move, but when she spoke again her voice was very close to his ear. "He did them all. Then, when he'd done them once, he started over. But don't worry about Crowley, sugar. There's one lesson he still hasn't learned."

"What's that?" he said, nearly choking on the words.

"The best torturers don't get their hands dirty," she murmured, her breath warm against his neck.

His head pivoted, and she smiled, wicked and sharp. "You are a resilient and dangerous creature, Meg," he said.

"Don't you forget it, hot wings. That's the mistake they all make."

He let Desdemona hop to the ground and turned so that he was more or less facing her. "Do you remember the day we met?"

Her mouth quirked. "You mean the day you threw me in holy fire? Yeah, it sorta sticks out."

He acknowledged that with a brief flick of his brows. "I've always remembered the way you spoke of Lucifer. Your love and devotion to him. You called him _father_."

Her eyes clouded and she shifted away from him. "I…he created our race. Lilith was the first, and I'm a direct descendent of Lilith through Azazel. You know that."

"That isn't what I'm talking about."

She looked away. Her expression was, for once, shuttered to him, and he wondered if she were angry with him for bringing it up. "He was my cause for a long time. Maybe Crowley was right and he really was going to kill all the demons once he took over, but…I don't know. When he looked at me, I felt…I felt sort of…_whole_. Not different from what I am, but that what I am is perfect, just as it is. Anger and hate and fire and thorns, and he loved me. Not _despite_ it or even _because_ of it, but just because it was _me_."

She shrugged a restless shoulder, and when she finally looked at him, her eyes were stormy and uncertain. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

He wasn't sure what he'd wanted to know. "I wish you could have had your Heaven, Meg," he finally said.

"I do too, sometimes. But then what would've happened to you?" She wrapped an arm around his chest and dragged him up the bed. "No room for angels in Lucifer's Heaven, especially not pissed off rebellious angels fighting for Team Free Will."

"Hum," he said. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out next to her. Buried his face in her hair and took a long breath.

She curled her fingers into his shirt and let her body relax against his. The familiar warmth of his Grace—banked now, but always there—soothed her, like a hot fire on a cold day. Her wound stirred and muttered and went quiet, and she closed her eyes in relief. "Why Lucifer?" she said, her lips warm against his neck as she spoke. "Why now? You've never asked before."

He shifted against her and let out a quiet sigh. "The way you spoke earlier about the cage. It sounded as if you'd given it a great deal of thought."

There was a long silence. He could feel the tension in her small body, and her thorns pricked and burned. He weathered the storm and waited her out with an angel's patience. "When you saw him in the hospital, was it really him? Or just a hallucination?"

It seemed, for the moment, apropos of nothing, but he knew she was going somewhere. "I don't know. It's odd that Sam and I would have the same hallucination, but perhaps since I took his madness from him…" He trailed off thoughtfully. "It was a very interactive hallucination, if that's all it was."

She pushed away. "What if it was really him, Cas?" she said, her eyes somehow both bright and dark at the same time.

He looked down at her and cupped her face in his big hand. "Meg—"

"_No_! Think about it! I'm not saying I want Lucifer back. I'm just asking you—_what if it were really him_? It would mean he'd found a crack in the cage. A leak. Maybe you left the door open a teensy bit when you yanked Sam out, and he—"

"I did not leave the door open!"

"Don't get testy with me, feathers. You were obviously in a hurry, since you managed to leave his oh-so-precious _soul_ behind. Is it possible you overlooked something else, too?"

His face went through a series of transformations, and it finally settled on…she wasn't entirely sure. His eyes were huge and impossibly blue, and lines creased his forehead. "No. You said it yourself, Meg. The cage is buried too deep."

"I said that to _Sam_, genius. There's no way a living human could get down there. But could an archangel get _out_? Fuck yes. Especially if he had some sort of link, like an open phone line between there and here."

"Sam's soul."

"Bingo."

He shook his head, slow jerks of disbelief. "When I took Sam's madness, the connection was severed. Neither of us see Lucifer any longer."

"Great. You hung up. Doesn't mean the weakness isn't still there, either within you or within Sam. What do you think taking him back to Hell will do to him, Cas? And I know you've seen the…that whatever it is. That _thing_."

His face fell into grave lines. "Yes. It wasn't there before the first trial."

She bit down on her lip and chewed. "I'll take him. I'll help him find his innocent soul. My question is what if he comes back with more than just one sweet, wrongly damned little soul?"

"Meg, what you're suggesting is impossible. Lucifer can't break out of the cage. It isn't possible."

"Hhmm," she said, a low hum of doubt. "I always thought the seals couldn't get broken. Where would we find a righteous man in Hell? Looks like I was wrong." She waved a hand. "Besides, both you and Death got _in_. That was after it was supposedly sealed for all ever and eternity."

He untangled himself from her and sat up. Ran both hands back through his hair and left it standing on end. "You wouldn't relish Lucifer's return?"

She went still. "Once I would've said yeah, absolutely. Now?" She sat up next to him and cast him a glance from the corner of her eye. "Maybe I don't want the world remade in someone else's image," she said, quietly.

"This point is perhaps moot anyway. If we manage to close the Gates—"

"I'll be sucked inside with the rest of the riffraff, so I won't have to worry about remaking the world. Right?"

He scowled. "That is not what I meant."

"I know," she whispered. "It's just easier to joke about it."

He turned to her, and his eyes were a blaze of righteous fury. "We'll think of something, Meg. I promise you."

Her smile was impossibly sad, beautiful and mournful and brimming with regret. "It's okay, Clarence," she said. She touched his face with light fingers, a gentle prick of thorns. "Whatever happens, it's okay."

He ground his teeth together and grasped her hand in his before she could pull it back. His grip was tight enough to bruise, and she felt her bones creak. "It will not be okay with me if you get trapped in Hell, Meg. Do you understand? It will _not_ be okay, and I will not let it happen."

"Oh, hot wings," she drawled, "I just love it when you get all _commanding_."

He jerked her arm hard enough to make her cry out, a mingled yelp of pleasure, surprise, and pain, and the glint in his eyes was feral. "This isn't a joke."

Her mouth curved as she moved into him. "Who's joking, baby? Now come on. Aren't you tired of talking?"

He sat smoldering for another few moments, his expression hard and forbidding. Then, just when she thought he might flit away and leave her there alone and aching (he'd done it before, but it had been a long time, way back in the early days when he'd still been so ashamed of everything), he released her hand and grabbed a fistful of hair instead. Yanked her head back and melded his mouth to hers.

"It's a promise, Meg," he muttered against her lips in a gravel-and-cream voice that made her shiver.

"I hear you, Castiel. Now shut up. Right now your mouth has better things to do than talk."

* * *

Dean had all but forced Kevin into a room at gunpoint, ordering him to get some rest. There wasn't anything they could do until Meg either agreed to help them or not, so they might as well get some sleep while the gettin' was good. He protested, saying he still didn't know about the third trial, but Dean waved him off and finally he gave in.

"That kid. If he's not careful he won't make it that far," Dean said as he collected their empty beer bottles.

"Yeah, I know. What do we do about it?"

He shrugged and tossed the bottles in a trashcan. "I don't know, man. He just needs to deal with it. I know it's a lot—the whole prophet thing, bein' on the run, the isolation—but it's the life."

"We were raised in the life, Dean. It's different for us. Kevin was a normal kid before all of this. He had plans. A future. Now everything he's ever known is ripped apart, and the world's gone crazy. You can't blame him for having issues," Sam said with a little grimace.

"I don't _blame_ him, I just—look, we've all got shit to bear. We've all got struggles. By the time I was his age, I was a full-blown Hunter, and Dad never let me forget it. You were halfway out the door, and it was all on me. I had to keep it all together." He threw a bottle so hard it shattered, and Sam stared at him through eyes darkened with empathy.

"Are you mad at Kevin…or jealous of him?"

"Jealous?" Dean snorted and dropped the trashcan. "Why the fuck would I be _jealous_?"

Sam shrugged. Held out his hands. "I don't know, Dean. You never got a chance to freak out. It was all just par for the course for us, wasn't it? Monsters and killing and hunting. You never got to be a normal kid, so Kevin's freak out is sort of…enviable. You wish you could have been in his position when you were his age. New to the life."

"I think that explosion musta rattled your gourd harder than we thought, because that's the craziest fuckin' thing I've ever heard."

Sam's mouth quirked and he turned back to his computer. "Okay. Whatever you say."

Dean squinted at the back of his brother's head and tried to think of something to say. Maybe Sammy had a point, but hell if he were going to acknowledge it. He snorted and dropped into a chair. "You think she's gonna help us?" he said, tilting his head toward Meg's closed door.

Sam glanced over his shoulder. "They've been in there a while. I think if the answer were _no_ he'd be out by now."

"Yeah," Dean said as he idly paged through one of the books Meg had left on the table, "that's true." He glared down at the book and poked it.

"That book do somethin' to you?" Sam said.

"Huh? Oh." He slammed the cover and shoved it away. "Nah. I was just thinkin'."

"Uh huh." Sam shut the lid of his laptop. Dean had that _tone_, and it usually meant he wasn't going to get any work done until they talked through whatever was on Dean's mind. It could take a while for him to spill. "Thinkin' about what? Books written in obscure Latin dialects?"

"Fuck yeah," Dean said. "I'm _deep_, man."

Sam lifted his brows and fixed him with a patient, probing stare. Dean shifted. Cleared his throat. He looked down at the table and traced a pattern on its surface with his thumbnail.

"Dean."

He threw back his head and huffed out a breath. "You sure about this, Sammy? Really sure? Just you and Meg, down in the Pit?"

"I thought you were gonna give Meg a chance."

He held up a hand. "This isn't about her. I don't think she's gonna betray you down there; she's got just as much to lose if she gets caught as you do. This is about _you_. You're my brother, man. I already had to…" He trailed off and lowered his chin. Coughed a little and scrubbed his stubbled jaw. "I already had to watch you jump into Hell once. Now you're askin' me to do it again."

Sam's brow creased. "It's different this time, Dean. When I dragged Lucifer and Michael into the cage, it was a suicide mission. I knew what I was doing, and I accepted it. This time I'm coming home. I'm not gonna let you down."

When he looked up, Dean's eyes were bright and his expression incredulous. "This isn't about letting me _down_, Sammy. I'm not _Dad_."

"Yeah, I know. I know that. That's not what I meant. I just know you think I let you down when I didn't look for you—"

"Stop. We've been over that. You had a chance to get out, and you took it. I did the exact same thing when you were in the cage."

"That was different and we both know it," Sam said in a low voice.

Dean shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh. "Are you beatin' yourself up over this, Sam?"

He gave a restless shrug. "I don't know. Maybe. Should I be?"

"No!" Dean barked. "Just…forget it. You did what you had to do. I made it out."

"Yeah," Sam said, "you did. Just like I'm gonna make it out of Hell."

"Sam, listen to me. If it comes down to you or her, you leave her. Hear me? Don't risk yourself for Meg."

Sam licked his lips and studied his brother down the length of the table. "I'm not sure that's gonna be an option for me, Dean."

"Why? Because she possessed you once? Sam, do you have any idea how fuckin' weird that is?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Dean, I do. Look, I'm not an idiot, but it's not that simple. Benny is a vampire, right? But he saved your life in Purgatory, and he helped get you out, so you lied to me to keep him safe. If the situation were reversed, and you were goin' down there, and Benny were your guide, what if I said the same thing to you?"

"Fuck that, Sam," Dean said with a heated glare. "That's completely different."

"Not completely. Meg's helped us before. She took care of Cas. I'm not saying I'd _die_ for her down there, but I'm also not gonna just leave her behind. She deserves better than that."

Dean looked away, lips white with tension and shoulders stiff. "I don't know what she deserves," he said, roughly.

"Same thing we all do, Dean. She deserves a chance. If she says yes, I'm gonna have her back down there. Because you know what?" His mouth quirked in a _what the fuck?_ smile. "I know she's gonna have mine. Not like you would, no, but still. She'll make sure I get home in one piece, even if it means throwing herself to a pack of demons."

Dean let out a low noise, almost like a growl, and sat back in his chair. "Okay, then, you let her. Don't be a hero down there. Get the soul and get out. You've still got another trial after this one, and if this is only round two.…"

"Yeah, I know. What's round three gonna be like?"

A silence fell, hard and deep and echoing. Dean had only ever wanted to protect his little brother, but Sam'd taken on these trials and now he had to see them through till the end. It didn't make him happy, but what else could he do? It was hard to have faith in anyone, and Sam had flaked out on him in the past—to put it mildly—but there came a time when you just had to man up and fucking trust someone. It was basically the same advice he tried to give Kevin, and maybe it was time he took his own counsel.

He was about to say that to Sam (or something close to it) when Meg's door opened and the demon strolled out, arms crossed over her chest and mouth curved in a cocky little smirk. "Well, Sammy, looks like we need to get our walkin' shoes on. We're goin' to Hell, buckaroo."

* * *

_I still haven't decided who they're gonna rescue. I don't think it'll be Bobby, because it doesn't make me happy that Crowley had any sort of control over that. Doesn't make much sense to me._

_Reviews get you tacos hand delivered in the Impala. Everyone likes tacos, right? (You do. Trust me.)_


	4. Fissures

**a/n: **When I quit putting shit off and actually sit down to write, I manage okay. Sorry for the wait. :)

Thanks for all the reviews/favorites/follows since last time, loves. You make my heart smile.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Fissures**

_**It doesn't matter that you didn't believe in**_** _us,_ said Mr. Ibis. _We believed in_ _you._**  
-Neil Gaiman, _American Gods_

After the initial furor from Meg's announcement died down, Sam and Dean decided to get some sleep. Since they'd finally gotten Kevin settled they didn't want to bother him, and they'd been going pretty much nonstop since before Meg and Cas left for Marguerite, almost two days ago. Whatever plan they were going to hatch could wait a few hours.

That left Meg and Cas to wander the bunker on their own. Meg was restless and bored, but she wasn't about to risk going out. Cas was content, especially once Meg sat him down with the books she'd culled from the bunker's library. Cas flipped pages and Meg poked around the drawers and bins. Once she drew her hand back with a yelp, and Cas glanced up, eyes big and mouth agape.

She shook out her benumbed fingers and offered him a sardonic smile. "Demon ward. Didn't notice it until too late. Sucker smarts."

"You should be cautious. There could be anything stored here, and clearly the Men of Letters take protection seriously."

"Yeah," Meg said as she opened another drawer and studied a gorgeous Faberge egg. "No shit. Why do they need this?"

He went back to his book and she thought he wasn't going to answer. Finally, "The Russian Imperial family's fascination with mysticism is well known. It's why Czarina Alexandra was such an easy target for Rasputin. The eggs are…" He trailed off with a little shrug. "It's all of a piece."

"Hum." She dropped the egg back in the drawer and shut it. Ambled over to the table and sat down across from him. Threw her feet up and crossed her ankles. "Find anything good?"

"There are some reversal spells in here, but I'm not sure they're what we need," he said with a frown.

"I guess I'll hit the stacks again."

"Why are you doing this?"

She paused and looked at him, her head tilted and her mouth tight. "Doing what?"

"Sam could find the spells."

"I think baby Winchester has some other shit to worry about now, feathers." His eyes stayed steady on hers, and she hitched a shoulder. "I wanna know what's in the box, too. For all I know it could be some magic medicine codex with a cure for…" She gestured toward her wound. "Whatever the fuck this is."

His mouth quirked.

"Besides, what else have I got to do? Can't go outside. Already had a shower. I could drag you onto this table and have my way with you, but honestly, it's so _easy_ these days."

He shifted in his seat as his brows drew together. "Meg—"

"I'm kidding, featherbrain, calm down." She dragged her feet off the table and pulled herself out of the chair. "I remember these Men of Letters guys. Whatever happened to them?"

"Abaddon, apparently," he said in a distracted voice.

The book she'd just picked up hit the ground with a muffled thud. "Abaddon? _The_ fucking Abaddon?"

He peered up at her. "I believe there's only one, yes."

"Fuck me. But it wasn't that long ago, was it? Like, a few decades. I thought Abaddon died with the rest of the Knights. Ya know, a little tussle with the angels several millennia ago?"

"Apparently there were survivors."

"What? How many survivors?"

He said nothing.

She slammed her hands down on the table. "How _many_ survivors, Castiel? Any more Knights of Hell out there I should know about? They're pureblood demons, like me, but they're in a whole different realm. I can't take Sam into Hell if there's gonna be a greeting committee of fucking _Knights_."

He glowered. "I doubt that Crowley would allow the Knights any freedom, if there are any others. Abaddon somehow survived and broke through to this plane back in the fifties. Sam, Dean, and their grandfather were able to contain him. I believe—though I don't know for sure—that Abaddon was the only Knight to survive."

"And you know this through your double-oh-seven act, huh?" she asked with raised brows.

He lowered his nose back to the pages and muttered something. She grinned and whirled away. "Fine, let's hope you're right. If not, our little Sammy won't get very far, and I'll be comin' home in a shoebox."

Cas shut the book and pulled another from the pile. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that, Meg."

"What? Stiff upper lip? The power of positive thinking? And here I thought you were a realist, Clarence."

"I am," he said, a low growl. "But the thought of you…in a box…is upsetting. It isn't something I wish to consider, and I don't understand how you can be so cavalier about it."

She tucked her hands in her pockets and scuffed the floor with her foot. "It's called a defense mechanism, sugar. You say something dopey and kinda cute, and then I say something scathing and sarcastic. It's sort of our thing. Are you just now catching on?"

He blinked at her. "What did I say that was dopey and cute?"

"I love it when you get all huffy." She stepped up behind him and laced her fingers through his hair. "Your face gets all pinched and your voice gets this _tone_ and I can just imagine your feathers going all ruffled like an angry bird."

"Hhmm," he murmured, a noise that transformed halfway through from doubt to pleasure as she kneaded his scalp. He leaned back into her touch and closed his eyes. She kissed his temple and trailed her fingers down the back of his neck.

"Hey, look at that," she said.

"Hum?" he muttered, surfacing from an almost trancelike state with a start. "What?"

She reached past his shoulder and grabbed the book he'd been pretending to study. "This spell. I think you found it, cloud hopper."

"Ah, yes. I thought that one looked promising."

She slanted a half smile at him and rolled her eyes. "You're a regular Sherlock fucking Holmes."

"Should we try it now, or wake the others first?"

"No," she said, "let them sleep." Her brow furrowed over bright green eyes as she read the spell. "It doesn't look too hard, but some of the ingredients are kinda rare. Wonder if they have them around here." She set the book back on the table and ran her finger down the list. "I don't know what some of this shit is, even. Whatever happened to good old fashioned lamb's blood and saint bones?"

Cas considered the ingredients for a moment. "This spell looks highly unstable. Are you sure this is the one?"

"It says it'll undo just about any ward in town. That sounds like our thing." She glanced around uneasily. "Let's just make sure we _aim_ really well. Would hate to undo the boys' hidey hole." She shifted. "Deano might not forgive me for that one."

"Yes. Accuracy will be key. I'll go now and get what we need."

"Wait—" But he was already gone. She scowled and slammed the book shut. "We could at least check the damn cupboard first. Flap happy angel."

* * *

The others were awake by the time Cas got back, and Meg was on the verge of (snarky, secret) panic. Dean had asked four times exactly where Cas had gone, and of course she didn't have an answer for him. She showed him the spell and recapped their conversation, and Dean just glowered at her and tossed the book aside. Sam told him to calm down, but his response was to stomp to his room and slam the door behind him.

Sam glanced at Meg with a shrug and turned away. She rolled her eyes and wondered for the thousandth time what the hell she was doing in fucking Winchester land. It was not her natural habitat. Not by a mile.

When the angel finally reappeared, Meg ignored him. Sam gave him a worried, exasperated frown. Kevin didn't look up from the tablet. Dean poked his head out of his room and promptly pulled it back and slammed the door again.

"I sense tension," Cas said.

"You're a walking, talking mood ring, Clarence," Meg drawled.

His brow furrowed in thought as he set the bag of ingredients on the table. "I was gone longer than I planned. One of the plants required is exceedingly rare, and I had to comb the Himalayas for it."

"Uh huh," Meg said, not glancing up from her magazine.

"Perhaps I should have checked in sooner."

"Ya think?" she said.

Sam shut the lid on his laptop and scowled at both of them. "You should have, Cas. We were worried. Usually when you pop off to get something, you're gone for a few minutes. It's been hours, and with Naomi and Crowley out there…" He trailed off with a shrug.

"Yes. I see the problem."

"Good," Dean said from behind them. "We already had this conversation, Cas, back in Marguerite. I know you're a badass Angel of the Lord and shit, but give us a fuckin' break here. We've got enough to worry about with psychotic demons and speed freak prophets, okay?"

"Psychotic? Oh, Deanikins, you say the sweetest things," Meg said with a smirk.

He shot her a glare that only made her grin widen. She winked at him. He shook his head and looked away. "Fuckin' Christ," he muttered.

"I'm sorry," Cas said. "I didn't mean to be the cause for concern."

"Whatever, man," Dean said. "Just try to be more careful."

"Great. Now that we've all duly chastised the angel—and not in the _fun_ way—let's get down to business. Hell ain't gonna come to us, boys."

Sam's brow creased. "How does a living mortal get in? Is there a front door?"

"Of course there is, peaches, but we're not gonna use it." She flipped back a few pages in her magazine and slid it toward him.

He made a face. She rolled her eyes and pointed toward the headline. "_Scientists Discover 'Gate to Hell' in Turkey_," he read. "Okay…?"

She drew in a long breath and gritted her teeth. _Patience. Cannot maim or kill any Winchesters_, she thought. "It's a Plutonian gate," she said. "They're all over the place, cracks in the crust, fissures that release nasty gasses and got ancient humans high as fuck. Worship sites grew up around them, and people made sacrifices to Hades or Pluto or whoever the flavor of the month was."

She shrugged her good shoulder. "It's all the same to us. Point is, as the sacrifices grew, so did the power. Some of them, eventually, went from simple caves to actual doors."

"Wait," Dean said and held up a hand. "Go over that again. These…_Plutonian gates_…started out as regular caves with a bunch of stoners throwin' shit in?"

"Pretty much."

"And they ended up becoming true-life Hell gates? Like, _abandon all hope_ and shit?"

She lifted a brow. "And here I thought you hadn't read Dante. Yeah, that's the long and short of it. Belief is power, boys. Sacrifice is even more power. Offerings, prayers, rituals, all that shit filtered down through these weak spots until they made a hole, like a worm digging into an apple."

"Wait a sec," Kevin said, finally joining the conversation. "You said these portals exist all over the world?"

"There aren't as many as there used to be. Once the people stopped praying, the cracks started to close. Lack of fuel."

"So what happens when we close the Gates of Hell? Will these backdoors close, too?"

Her head tilted back and forth as her face scrunched. "The Gates of Hell are more…an _idea_. There are the cracks, like these." She flicked her fingers toward the magazine. "There aren't giant…_gates_. Like Hell is some rich ass neighborhood and we're tryin' to keep the riffraff out."

"I don't get it," Sam said. "What will we be closing?"

"Jesus, are you morons always so literal? Look, the tablet says Hell will be sealed forever, with all the demons inside. Right? Maybe you're slapping a giant Devil's trap over the whole shebang. I don't know. Do I look like a prophet to you?"

"Meg is right," Cas said. "Just as there are no 'pearly gates' to mark the entrance to Heaven—Heaven has no entrance, not in that sense—there are no doors to seal up Hell. It's all metaphor and poetry."

"And we all know how much featherbrain loves poetry," Meg said with false brightness.

Sam waved a hand. "Okay, so you're saying we have to go to Turkey?"

"It's an option," she said. "I'm not really familiar with this one, though, so I was thinking Greece."

"Awesome," Dean said. "I fuckin' love a gyro."

"What do I pack for a trip to Hell?" Sam said.

"Food and water," said Meg. "You can't eat or drink anything while you're there. Maybe a flashlight." She smirked. "A hairbrush."

The sour look he gave her was the unspoken equivalent of _fuck you_, and she cackled. He rolled his eyes in disgust and opened his laptop again. "Just tell me when you're ready to go."

She cut her eyes at Dean. "I guess you want to come along to bid us adieu."

"Not _us_ so much as _my brother_. You could get lost down there and I wouldn't shed too many tears."

"Your concern touches me deep inside, Dean." She tapped the center of her chest. "It tickles that special spot that gets me all warm and melty."

Cas cleared his throat. "As Sam's psychopomp, it's in everyone's best interest if Meg returns as well. Sam will need a guide out as well as in," he said, testily.

Her mouth twisted. "There ya go, boys. Without me poor Sammy would be like Theseus without any string: what's the point of facing the minotaur if you can't get home again?"

"He's gonna get home," Dean said, threat and promise simmering just beneath his words. "That's not an option."

"Let me explain something to you, freckles." She fixed Dean with hard green eyes, cold and deep as arctic ice. "If I say I'm gonna do something, I fuckin' well do it. You asked me to be Sam's guide, and I'll guide him. I'll help him find the soul, and I'll help him get back out with it. I'll keep him alive and as safe as I can along the way. I know my word doesn't mean much to you, but it matters to me. At this point, it's pretty much all I've got left."

Discomfited, he dropped her challenging stare. When he finally looked up again, she saw a vulnerability in him that he rarely let show. He looked young and scared, and her brow creased. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "I can't promise we'll get back, Dean. You know that. Hell is shit. Fire and blood and fear and pain. I _can_ promise I'll do everything I can to keep him safe. You hear me?"

He swallowed hard. "Yeah," he said. He choked a little and cleared his throat. "Yeah, Meg. I hear you."

"I'm right here, you guys. I'm not a fuckin' invalid. I've been Hunting since I was a kid, and I'm pretty good at taking care of myself."

Dean threw his arm out to point at his brother. "You shut up, Sammy," Dean said. "If Meg wants to protect you, you let her. We talked about this."

Her lips curved in a wry smile. "Yeah," she said with a shake of her head, "I'm sure you did."

An awkward silence fell. Kevin glanced up from the tablet with a curious expression. Cas shifted. Sam pretended to be absorbed in whatever he was researching. Meg shrugged and studied her nails. Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face.

"Okay, so, when do we get this road trip started?"

Her eyes flicked to Cas. "Whatcha say, cloud hopper? Got enough in the tank to get the four of us to Greece?"

"Yes," he said. "My…tank…is full."

"Great." She sat up and tossed her hair back. "Let's hit it."

"What, now?" Dean said.

"No time like the present, bowlegs. Why? You got plans or somethin'?"

He glared. "No. I just…I thought you'd need to, like, get ready."

"Get ready? This isn't _prom_, sweetheart. I'm pissed and I'm a little…yeah, fuck it, I'm scared, and I don't wanna do this. So maybe let's go before I come to my senses and blow this pop stand."

Sam let out a huff. "Meg, if you really—"

She cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Don't you dare tell me I don't have to, because of course I do. Gates closed, Crowley trapped? Sounds good to me. You'd be a helpless puppy down there, and I'm not gonna let you just feed yourself to the Pit."

"I'm not—"

"Yeah, I know. You're not helpless. You're a big, bad Hunter. Grow up, Samantha. Even your worst hunts are minor league compared to the big show. Hell is ground zero, and you're the bomb."

"I've _been_ to Hell!" he said.

"How much do you remember, Chewbacca? Really. Think hard." His tense face and hard silence were answer enough. "That's what I thought. Now, big brother on the other hand…?"

"I hate it, Sammy, but she's right," Dean said after a moment. "If you think of the worst, most disgusting, dirtiest, shittiest shit hole you can imagine, and then multiply that by about a thousand you'll come close to it."

Sam sat back, shaken. Dean rarely spoke of his time in Hell—not at all, really, since that one time on the hood of the Impala, where they always had their best talks—so to hear him say it so baldly was…unnerving, to put it mildly.

"Sam," Cas said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle, "Meg and Dean are correct. Hell is terrible beyond your wildest imaginings; however, you've been chosen for this task. The trials are yours to complete. I have faith in your abilities, and I trust Meg to lead you through safely."

His hands shook as he raised them to push his hair back off his forehead. "Yeah, okay," he said. "Thanks, Cas. I…thanks."

"We'll leave when you're ready," Meg said. "Get your stuff together. Bring the knife, and remember what I said about food."

"I'll hit the kitchen. I think we've got some jerky, and you bought those granola bars the other day," Dean said.

Kevin set the tablet down with studied care. "I think I saw some canteens when I was poking around earlier. I'll go get them."

"Better make sure the flashlights have fresh batteries," Meg said.

Everyone scattered. Sam stared around him with wide eyes. Cas pulled out a chair and sat down across from him, his expression both grave and serene.

"Don't you have an errand, Cas?" Sam said.

"Yes," the angel replied.

"It's fine. I'm…fine. Here. Was just gonna sit here a minute. Head's a little….weird, I guess. You can go do it. Your errand."

He smiled just a little, a bare curving of lips that brightened his sober dark eyes. "I am," he said quietly.

* * *

_Awww, Sammikins! He needs a cookie._

_Whew. So glad they're gettin' out of the damn bunker. I miss the swamp, actually. It'll be fun to decide what Hell's gonna look like..._

_(that was a bizarre sentence, even for me)_

_Reviews get you cupcakes with sprinkles! You can share yours with Sammy, if you want, or maybe Dean. They're both gonna be kinda moody for a while._


	5. The Lobby

**a/n: **Oh, dear readers, thank you so much for your patience! I had a sort of weird personal issue that was causing me major writer's block, but hopefully now that that's (mostly) resolved, I'll be back to more steady updates.

Your reviews really helped encourage me, so keep them coming!

* * *

**Chapter 5: The Lobby**

**Love, and be silent.**  
-William Shakespeare,_ King Lear_ (1.1.162)

The four of them materialized on a tiny spit of land just west of the Peloponnese and dropped hands. The island (if it could even be called that) was little more than a rocky outcropping covered in bird shit. The sound of waves was deafening, and the sun glared off the Ionian Sea like a searchlight. Dean grumbled something about the lack of gyro stands, but everyone ignored him.

"How did this place get enough worshippers to become an actual gate?" Sam said. "We're in the middle of nowhere."

"Fishermen and sailers are extremely superstitious," Meg said. She waved them over, and Sam and Dean reeled back from the roil of fumes filtering from a crack in the rocks. "See those?" She pointed out scraps of cloth shoved into every nook and cranny around the fissure. "Prayers. They still leave them today, so it's stayed open."

"I don't think I'm gonna fit through there," Sam said with a worried frown.

She smirked. "Stick with me, kid. I've got moves you've never seen." She glanced back at Cas and Dean and hitched her pack higher on her shoulders. "You guys should probably go. I'd hate for anyone to fall in."

"Fall in?" Dean said. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about opening a hole between dimensions. Do you think any part of that is easy? Or, ya know, _stable_?" She looked away. "Take a minute to say goodbye, then we've gotta hit it."

Dean cut his eyes at Cas. Grabbed Sam and pulled him away, where the pounding of the surf would drown out any other sound. "Remember what I said. Come home in one piece, or I'm gettin' fly boy over there to take me downstairs to haul your ass out. Got it?"

"Yeah, Dean, I got it. Don't worry; I'll be fine."

"Right. Fine. I'm sure."

Cas frowned over at the Winchesters. He could hear them perfectly, of course; he was an angel, and not easily stymied. He sighed and ran his eyes down the tense lines of Meg's back. What to say to her? She hated _poetry_, as she called it, but if this were literally the last time they would ever speak.…

No. He couldn't think that way. She had promised to live, and he knew how much her promise was worth. She had an odd sense of honor, and she wouldn't let Sam down. She would bring him back, and she would toss her head and grin and tell him he'd been a fool to ever worry.

"You gettin' an eye full, wingnut?" she said over her shoulder.

His brow creased and he stepped up next to her. "I was admiring you from behind," he said.

She nearly choked. "Uh…huh. Nice view, right? This meatsuit is sex on two legs."

"I…hum. As you say."

They stood in silence for a time. The surf thundered behind them. Birds screeched above them. In front of them the earth yawned and waited.

"Meg," he finally said, "I should tell you—"

"C'mon, Clarence, don't do this."

He hesitated. Then, "I know you dislike sentimentality, but please listen to me for a moment."

She rolled her eyes, but then tilted her chin toward him. He took that as permission to continue. "I won't say goodbye, because I know you'll come back. And you will, won't you, Meg? You'll come back and we'll bake cookies and watch…watch a film. Maybe you could explain why you call me _Clarence_. Perhaps I'll show you my wings. We could get Desdemona a friend. Cordelia or Ophelia."

"Cordelia or Ophelia and Desdemona. What's with you and the chicks who don't survive Shakespearean tragedies?"

"I suppose I've always been fatalistic."

"Hum. I guess that's why you're so sweet on me: I'm doomed."

His jaw tightened. "Perhaps," he said, low and rough.

Her mouth quirked, and when she spoke her voice had an odd hitch in it. "I told you I'm coming back, didn't I? You don't have to get all dopey about it."

"You like it when I'm dopey."

"I like it better when you're shutting up." She turned her head to look at him, and their eyes met. Locked. Held. His fingers twitched, itching to touch her, and her lips twisted in a sad little smile.

Dean cleared his throat behind them, and the moment was broken. "You guys ready?" he said.

"Yep," Meg said. "Let's do this."

Cas and Sam switched places, and the angel gripped Dean's arm. Meg tossed them a grin over her shoulder. "Hey, featherbrain. Do you remember what Cordelia said to her dad to show up her bitchy sisters?"

He blinked. "Yes, I remember."

"Good," she said. "Now take your boy and get the hell outta here."

His face creased, but after a moment they were gone, the whisper of wings drowned out by sea and wind.

Sam studied her from the corner of his eye. "_King Lear_, right?"

"Yup," she said. Her fingers traced strange patterns on the rough stone, and the air rippled around them. "You know _King Lear_ but not Dante?"

"Jess liked Shakespeare. The drama club at Stanford did _King Lear_ our Junior year, and she dragged me to see it." He looked down, mouth twisting. "It was good. Lear pissed me off, though."

"He's supposed to, Sam. That's the point. He's a vain, pissy old man who just wants his daughters to flatter him. Cordelia sets him straight, but by then it's too late. Her death—the only _good_ character in the whole play—is what gives the audience leave to pity him, because he's really pitiable, when you think about it." She shrugged at his bemused expression. "What? I saw them all back in the day, first run. Been fascinated ever since."

The smell of fumes dissipated, and Sam staggered as a vortex opened where the cave's mouth had been. It seemed to suck him in, and he resisted its pull as hard as he could. Meg held out her hand, and he stared down at it with a frown. "Come on, kid," she said impatiently. "We gotta hold hands or we won't get there together. You wanna be in Hell all by your onesies?"

He made a low noise and gripped her tiny palm in his much bigger one. She tugged on his hand until he looked up at her, brow creased in a question. "They'll try to keep you there, Sam. There are several ways. Don't eat or drink anything, ever, except what we brought. Don't believe anything you see or hear. Just me, Sam. I'm your psychopomp, and I'm the only thing you can trust down there. Got it?"

"How do I know it's really you?"

"There are rules to this. A psychopomp gets a free pass. They can't fuck with me, and they can't fuck with you _using_ me."

He swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, okay. Let's just go."

She twined her fingers through his and winked. "Take a deep breath, Sammy boy. Here goes nothin'."

* * *

Kevin glanced up from the tablet as Cas and Dean appeared. "You guys get the kids dropped off at Hell okay?" he said.

Dean pulled a face, but Cas nodded earnestly. "All is well," he said.

"Great. Maybe you should take me back now."

"Back?" Dean said. "You mean back to Garth's boat?"

He cut his eyes at Dean but otherwise didn't deign to reply.

Dean stood for a moment, nonplussed. He glanced at Cas, but the angel's expression was smooth. Dean let out a sigh and ran a hand down his face. "Kevin, man, we thought you could stay here."

"Here? In your art deco hobbit hole?" His face creased. "Why?"

"It's safe here, buddy. Safer than Garth's boat, no matter how hard you ward it. This place has serious anti-demon mojo."

"Meg was in here," he said.

"Yeah, but you shoulda seen what we had to do to _get_ her in here. And she couldn't even find this place until we brought her here. _Cas_ couldn't find this place!" He shot the angel a pointed look, and he started.

"Yes, Kevin, it's true. You're safer here, and there's plenty of room." His face brightened. "You can watch after Desdemona when Sam and Dean are out hunting."

Kevin glanced from Dean to Cas and back again. "Who's Desdemona?"

"Don't ask!" Dean said. "Cas, what did I say? You're not keeping the cat in here."

"A cat?" Kevin said. "I like cats."

"She's not an ordinary cat," said Cas.

Dean made a sharp gesture. "Enough with the cat! I'm allergic to cats and I don't want it shedding all over our bunker. Do you know what happened to me this morning? It was in my room. Lying on my _bed_!"

"Hum," Cas said. "She was closed up in Meg's room when we left." His mouth quirked. "As I said, not an ordinary cat."

"I'll stay if we can keep the cat," Kevin said. "Otherwise, I want to go back to the boat."

Dean dropped his head down into his hand and muttered something under his breath. Finally he looked up, mouth tight and eyes over-bright. "You know what? Fine. Keep the fucking cat. But, listen! If I ever find her in my room again, I'm makin' her into earmuffs. Got it?"

"Meg has continually threatened to make Desdemona into earmuffs, but she's never followed through."

"Yeah, well, unlike Meg, my ears actually get cold," he said with a hard smile.

Cas huffed out a breath, and Kevin just smiled down at his notebook. Dean shook his head at both of them and retreated to his room. He dropped his duffle on the bed and straightened the picture of Mom. He stared into her beautiful, smiling face and felt a familiar frisson of pain. Had he done the right thing, sending Sammy off to Hell with Meg?

"You there, Mom?" he said, tapping a fingertip against the picture. "I know you're in Heaven; we saw you there; but if you could think of some way to watch out for Sammy while he's downstairs…?"

He sighed and sank down onto the bed. Shoved the duffle aside and tugged off his boots. Threw his legs up and stretched out against the pillow. There was a part of him that wished he'd killed Meg years ago. He knew he couldn't do it now: even if it weren't for the whole Cas thing, ever since SucroCorp he'd seen her somewhat differently. Now it would feel like just plain _murder_, and Dean Winchester was no murderer. A killer, sure, but that was different.

Sam would be fine. Yeah, Hell was a shit hole, but Sam was tough. He had an incredibly bitchy demon as his guide. He was smart and a good hunter and he knew how important it was to make it back.

Dean wished he'd said some of this to his brother, but he knew Sam knew. Or at least he hoped he did. Sometimes Dean wished he could be more like Sam, more willing to just lay it all out there. But that wasn't his way, and it never had been. He regretted the ways he was like his father even as he reveled in them, and that was the crux of it all, wasn't it?

He scowled and tugged his arms out from behind his head and let them fall at his sides. He stared up at the ceiling, blinking hard and trying not to think. There was a small movement at the door, but he ignored it. A moment later a furry head butted against his hand.

"Goddammit," he muttered.

The cat ignored him and curled up between his arm and his side with a small noise, a sound that fell somewhere between contentment and annoyance. Dean glared down at her, but she ignored him. After a moment he echoed her noise with one of his own and closed his eyes.

It didn't occur to him until quite a long time later that so far he'd never sneezed in Desdemona's presence, despite his cat allergy.

* * *

Sam stared around him with wide eyes. He was in a park, one he recognized. It had been a favorite escape spot when he was at Stanford and felt overwhelmed by homework and school life and just…_life_. He'd taken Jess here on their second date, and they'd had a picnic. Grilled chicken and spinach salad and fresh strawberries, her favorite.

He turned his head, and Jess was there, smiling and laughing and gorgeous. She'd just told him she was pregnant. He hadn't heard her say it, but he knew that's what she'd just said. He blinked a moment, taking it in. He was going to be a father! He felt equal parts terror and joy, and his heart was full to bursting as he swooped her up and kissed her full mouth.

"I hope it's a girl," she said through his kisses. "I hope she has your eyes and my chin, and I hope she's tall. Not as tall as you, maybe, but taller than me. We can name her _Mary_."

"We gotta buy a crib," he said. "A crib and a highchair and a carseat and one of those…whatchacallits. Um, the bouncy things so the kid can get around the house before she can walk."

Jess laughed. "It'll be a while before we need all that, Sam. For right now we should probably concentrate on getting the house finished. A pregnant woman can't live in a construction zone!"

Getting the…of course. Six months ago they'd bought a small, run-down house just outside of town, and they were working on fixing it up. It was going to be their dream home, a tiny Craftsman bungalow with its original wood fixtures and stained glass.

"What about the wedding?" he said, surprised at the words even as they left his mouth.

She flashed him a teasing grin. "I think that can be moved up, don't you? We'll have to track down Dean, but I'm sure your parents know where he is."

"Right," he said. "My parents." Mom and Dad, back in Kansas. Dean…hard to track down because he was a roadie. Not the skeevy kind, either, but a well-paid, highly respected technician who had worked on nearly every major tour in the past decade. Sam shook his head, overwhelmed.

"Is this real?" he said.

Jess chuckled, a sweet, musical trill. "Of course it is, silly! Why wouldn't it be? Are you okay? You look a little rattled."

"Yeah, I just.… Yeah, I'm fine." He ran big hands back through his hair and tugged hard, hoping the pain would wake him up. Nothing. Maybe it wasn't a dream. But, how…?

"Good. I know this is a bit sooner than we expected, but I figure things happen for a reason, right?" She pressed her hand to her belly and smiled.

"Uh huh," he said.

A crease formed between her brows. "Honey, why don't you take a deep breath? It'll be great, you'll see. You'll make partner within a year, and with that advance I got for the next book…" She trailed off with a little frown, but then it cleared like the sun coming out from behind a bank of clouds. "Here, sweetie, have a strawberry. They're so good, and I'm sure it'll perk you right up."

She held out the bowl of bright fruit with a gentle curve to her mouth. He stared down at it. The strawberries looked tempting, but also somehow…obscene. Red as fresh blood, swollen and tumescent, with seeds like tiny maggots. He swallowed hard and glanced up at Jess. Her coaxing expression seemed too eager, and her eyes flashed with greed. He shifted away.

"Baby, what's wrong? You love strawberries."

Her voice was strange, tense and stretched, and the sun suddenly felt too hot. It beat down on him steady and harsh, and he shrugged out of his jacket.

"I'm not hungry," he said through a throat gone tight. A juicy strawberry sounded perfect, the exact combination of sweet and tart to quench his aching thirst…but no. No, no. Something stopped him. A voice. A memory, as pale and faded as a ghost.

_They'll try to keep you there.… Don't believe anything you see or hear.… Don't eat or drink anything.…_

"Sam?" Jess said. He ignored her and rubbed his temples. "Sam? Sam, are you listening to me? Sam!"

The voice changed. "Sam! Goddammit, you moose, snap out of it!"

He tossed his head back and forth as though shaking off cobwebs, and the bright scene around him shredded. Meg's annoyed scowl filled his vision—above him—and he realized he was sprawled out on his back. A rock dug into his spine, and he shifted with a wince.

"Fuck me, Gigantor, I've never been happier to see your dopey eyes in my whole fucking life. Come on, sit up." She wrapped an arm around his middle and easily pulled him up. He gripped her as a wave of dizziness hit, and she held on without complaint.

"It's okay," she said. "It'll pass. Here, drink this." She held up a canteen, and he reeled back in panic.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," she said. Her voice turned soothing, and she smiled a little. "Look, it's what we brought. Old-ass canteen from your bunker. Remember what I said? They can't use me to fuck with you. It's me. For real."

He held out a shaking hand and took the canteen. Sipped long and slow, but stopped before his thirst was quenched. They needed to ration the water, instinct told him.

She sat back on her heels and studied his pale face. "What did you see?" she said quietly.

"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered.

"Fair enough." She tilted her head. "You did good, Sam. They came at you hard, and you resisted."

He twisted the top back on the canteen and passed it to her. Grimaced. "How do you know?"

"I know how this place works," she said with a cynical lilt to her mouth. "You don't wanna tell me about it, that's fine. But I can guess." She reached out to tap his forehead and ignored his flinch. "I've been inside that melon, and I know what your weak spots are." She shoved the canteen into her pack and zipped it closed. Tossed the bag over her shoulders and stood up. "We should keep moving. They know we're here now."

She offered him a hand and he let her help him up. Paused a moment to take stock. They were in a narrow, rocky passage. He had to duck to keep from hitting his head on the uneven ceiling, and he stumbled over the rough floor. He followed her lead and retrieved one of the flashlights he'd packed. It all seemed so mundane. Walking through a cave with a flashlight in your hand. He felt like a Boy Scout.

"I wasn't expecting it to be like that," he said after a while.

She slanted a look over her shoulder. "No one ever does." A pause. "It was nice, right? Like, maybe, everything you've ever wanted?"

He hesitated. Swallowed through his dry throat. "Yeah. It was."

"Uh huh," she said. "There was an episode of _The Twilight Zone_ once…you ever watch that show?"

He shrugged even though she was ahead of him. "Not much."

"It's fucking depressing. A marathon of that shit and you'll want to blow your brains out fast." He made a noise behind her, and she grinned. "Anyway. There was this episode…it was about this guy who died and went to what he thought was Heaven. Everything he ever wanted, him barely having to think about it. Women, booze, always winning at the roulette wheel. Eventually he realized having every wish and whim granted was really shitty, like skin-crawling, and he wasn't in Heaven at all."

"Hum," Sam said, a low, contemplative sound.

"I'm just sayin'. Hell's an insidious place, Sam, and if something looks too good to be true, you can pretty well guarantee it is."

"One thing about my life, Meg?" His mouth twisted in a wry, bitter moue. "It's taught me that much, if nothing else. A strawberry is never just a strawberry, and there's always rot under the shiny red surface."

That made her strangely sad. She remembered the Sam she'd possessed, how hopeful he'd been. That had been a long time ago, though. Before his brother went to Hell. Before Ruby and the demon blood. Before Lucifer and the Cage.

"Yeah," she said without irony or mocking, "life fucking sucks and then you die."

"Huh," he said, a brief, humorless chuckle. "For a little while, anyway."

* * *

_Writing that scene kinda broke my heart, and I feel so bad for our dear Sammy. In other news, though, I'm really excited for the Meg/Sam dynamic this story presents._

_Reviews will get you peaches and cream, or maybe bananas and nutella. Not strawberries, because it might be a while before I can eat a strawberry again._


	6. Strange Dreams

**a/n: **Here we are back at last! Now that I no longer have my weekly installment of angst and wank to distract me from the plot of this story (that is, _Supernatural_ is now on hiatus!), maybe I can get your updates out a little more quickly.

Thanks for sticking with me, dear readers!

* * *

**Chapter 6: Strange Dreams**

**Three words that became hard to say:  
_I_ and _love_ and _you_.**  
-The Avett Brothers, "I and Love and You"

There was a knock at the door, and Dean stirred. The cat let out an annoyed mew, but he glared at it and said, "Shut up before I skin you." His voice lacked any real heat, so she merely blinked at him, clearly unimpressed. He rolled his eyes and pulled himself out of bed to answer the door.

Cas waited on the other side, and as the door opened, he studied Dean with a worried glower. "What, Cas? You got an ulcer or somethin'?"

"What? No, my stomach is fine." He hesitated, and Dean made an impatient gesture. "I thought you would like to do the spell now. To open Remy's lockbox? Kevin is anxious to find out what's inside."

"I don't really care," Kevin called. "Kinda busy with this."

Cas shot an annoyed frown over his shoulder. "The prophet expressed an interest," he said.

"Whatever, Cas, yeah. You got all the stuff when you popped out earlier?"

"Yes, I have everything we need. It will require all three of us, though."

"Is it dangerous?" Dean said, though he didn't really care.

Cas hesitated. "Perhaps a bit. No more dangerous than any other piece of magic we've performed. Though…I suppose the box could…resist our meddling."

Dean's mouth tightened in a grimace. "Sounds swell. Let's do it."

"Very well. I'll need to draw some runes. Where would you prefer?"

"The table, I guess. Meg already fucked it up with her temper tantrum the other day." He gestured and Cas peered down at the small burnt-in handprints.

"Ah," he said. "Demons can be…prickly."

Dean quirked a brow. "I guess you'd know all about that, huh?"

"Dean—"

He held up a hand. "Never mind. Forget I said it. Let's just do the spell and find out what's in the box."

Cas started to speak, but then changed his mind and disappeared into the depths of the bunker to gather the rest of the supplies.

Kevin set his pen aside and flipped his notebook closed. "You make the cat into earmuffs?"

Dean snagged a beer and let out an annoyed growl. "Not yet."

He rolled the pen back and forth across the table and eyed Dean warily. "So, um…I think I've figured out that third trial," he said at last.

Dean nearly spit out his beer. "What? Why didn't you say something? Tell me!"

He glanced over his shoulder. Where was Cas? Could he hear their conversation? He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Sam's gotta cure a demon."

Dean blinked. "Cure a demon? What's that mean?"

"I don't know. Get rid of its demon-ness, I guess. Make it…human again."

"That's impossible," said Cas.

Kevin grimaced. Guess that was his answer. "According to the tablet it can be done," he said.

"How?" Dean said.

Kevin shrugged a shoulder. "It doesn't say. I guess that's up to us. I mean, it's not like it gives directions for any of these trials. It's just, you know…a rulebook. Not a guide. Or maybe a guide but not a rulebook. I don't know. All I know is that it tells you what to do but not how to do it. Okay?"

"Yeah, Kev, we got it. It's cool," Dean said with a wave. "Why is it impossible, Cas?"

"A demon is a demon. They cannot be _cured_. It takes most souls centuries to be twisted into demons; I doubt Sam has that kind of time."

"No, probably not," Dean deadpanned. He scrubbed a hand down his face and scratched at the stubble on his chin. "There's gotta be a way, though, or it wouldn't be in there, right? God didn't go to all the trouble of having this shit written down if it were impossible."

Cas looked away, brow furrowed. "I no longer pretend to know my Father's reasoning," he muttered.

"But, look," Kevin said, "this is good news, right? I mean, we figure out how to do it, and then we can cure Meg. That'd take care of her weird angel wound, too. If she's not a demon anymore, she can't be…whatever she is."

"No," Cas said. "Even if we did discover some process to cure demons, it wouldn't work on Meg." He shifted his weight and tucked his hands in his pockets. "She was never human."

"What? I thought all demons—"

"Not all," he said with a short, impatient gesture. "The story, of course, is that Lilith was the first demon. That's true, but she was never human. Not exactly."

Dean and Kevin exchanged a look. "What do you mean, _not exactly_?" Dean said.

Cas frowned down at the table. He seemed to be weighing his words, struggling with what to say. Finally he raised his head and offered a rueful smile. "Humanity was, at first, an experiment. Could these beings, granted souls and free will, deeply flawed and utterly beautiful, manage to survive? No one knew.

"My Father started with two: Adam and a wife, created from dust. Her name was Lilith. She wasn't content with the garden. With Adam. With…paradise. She wanted more. My brother—Lucifer, of course—liked that about her. He would visit, before his Fall, and they would speak."

He straightened his coat and cleared his throat. "Eventually Lucifer rebelled and was thrown out of Heaven. Lilith elected to leave paradise. To follow him. Lucifer made her into the first demon."

They absorbed this story in silence. Shades of it were familiar to Kevin—he'd gone to church as a kid—but Dean never bothered to read the Bible. He had his fill of that shit in his every day life.

"I don't understand," said Kevin. "Are you trying to say that Genesis is…true? Creation, not evolution?"

Cas' head tilted. "Ah, no, not exactly. That is, they're both true."

"Like…intelligent design?" Dean said. He paid attention to some things.

Cas shook his head. "No. I mean Adam and Lilith were real. The garden. All of it in the story. Then, God realized He'd made a profound mistake. He wiped the slate clean and started over from scratch."

"Uh, like…Noah's ark?"

His mouth quirked. "Yes. But the story is flawed in one way. Noah didn't survive the flood. No one did. Human life began in those seas, in the form of bacteria. _Evolution_ began there."

Dean took a long pull from his beer. "So lemme get this straight. Adam and Eve and all of that were _real_. It happened. But then God got pissy and killed everyone and started over with evolution instead of creation."

"Indeed. Lilith was one of the few creatures to survive the purge. She was a demon by then, but before that…well, the first beings weren't human. Not in the way you think of them."

"My mind is blown," Kevin said after several long seconds.

"Right there with ya, kid." Dean shook his head. "Okay, so what does any of this have to do with Meg?"

"Meg is a pureblood demon. She can trace her lineage back to Lilith through Azazel, her father. Lilith is her…grandmother, I suppose. Perhaps great-grandmother."

"She was born, not twisted?"

"That's fairly accurate, yes."

Dean let out a soft whistle. "Okay. So you can't cure someone of their…DNA, I guess. I knew that chick was trouble."

Cas' eyes narrowed dangerously. "Dean," he said, a warning growl, "pureblood demons are unique in creation. I believe that Lucifer endowed them with something of his angelic essence. A spark of Grace. She has that within her, like a brilliant light amidst all her swirling darkness. I would ask you to appreciate all that she's done for you, and how hard she tries to be…I hesitate to say _better_, but perhaps that's the closest I can come to what I mean."

He held up his hands. "I told you I was gonna give Meg a chance, and I have. I let her take my little brother into Hell, didn't I? Don't get your feathers in a ruffle."

His shoulders fell and he glanced away. "I do not believe she would accept a _cure_ even if it were an option," he said.

"Probably not. She's stubborn as hell."

Cas smiled a little. "That, and she doesn't believe being a demon is a state that needs to be cured."

"Demons are _evil_, Cas," Dean said, his voice tight with disbelief.

"Nearly all of them, almost completely," Cas said in mild agreement. "But Meg isn't. And it is rather arrogant of us to presume to cure them. As though we're their saviors."

Dean stared at him. "What're you gettin' at? If we cure a demon, that means one less demon in the world to piss me off. We didn't even have to kill a human to do it!"

"What about the human host? What happens to him? What happens to the human the demon has now become? How can a human live with the guilt of what he was before?"

Dean moved his hand in an impatient thrust. "Look, I watched _Angel_. I get it. Having a soul can be a bitch. None of that is my problem, though. _My_ problem is slamming the gates of Hell so that this kid can go back to advanced placement and my brother can maybe have a chance at that normal life he wants so damn bad. You hear me, Cas? I want to shut the gates, and I'll do nearly anything to make that happen. If a reformed demon has to suffer through a bad case of the guilts, fuck them. Maybe it's about time."

"All of this is moot if we can't even figure out how to do it," Kevin said with a weary sigh.

There was a small, tense silence. Finally Dean said, "Let's worry about that later. For now I wanna know what's in that box. Hell, maybe it's an instruction manual. Demon Tablet Appendix A or some shit."

Dean and Cas' eyes met, and even Cas could recognize what Dean was doing: changing the subject. It was a peace offering. A concession. The angel considered a moment, his midnight eyes fathomless, and then lowered his head in a nod.

"Great." Dean grabbed a can of spray paint from the pile of supplies Cas had brought. "Let's do it."

* * *

"Meg, hang on," Sam said. "I need to stop a minute."

She glanced over her shoulder with a little frown. He had his back against the wall and a hand pressed to his chest. His face was alarmingly pale, and she whipped toward him. "What's wrong? Did you see something?"

"No, nothing like that. I just…having some trouble…" He coughed hard, hard enough that she winced, and then stared down at his hand with wide eyes.

"What?" she said. He shook his head, but she ignored him and yanked his hand toward her. It was flecked with blood. She looked up, eyes wide. "We gotta move."

"I just need a sec."

"Sam, listen to me. I wasn't expecting this to happen so fast. I think maybe the first trial did something to you. Weakened you somehow. We gotta keep moving, or this is gonna get worse. Way worse."

"What is it?" he said. "What's happening?"

"Hell's no place for mortals, kid." She shrugged. "It's like being exposed to a lot of radiation. I mean, it's _not_, but that's the idea. Your body can't really take it."

"You're kinda freaking me out."

"Good. Maybe that'll motivate you to move your giant ass. I'm your psychopomp, and I can get you through safely, but I can't protect you from _this_. It's just a side effect of being here." She dug through her backpack and handed him a strip of fruit leather and a canteen. "Eat something as we walk. It'll help."

He wasn't sure he wanted to, but she seemed so adamant that he took a tiny bite of the fruit and washed it down with a sip of water. He offered a shaky smile and she quirked a brow. "Good enough," she said. "Let's go."

He pushed away from the wall and followed her, nibbling the fruit leather as he went. It did seem to be helping. He took small nips from the canteen and watched his feet. The silence between them seemed to stretch like a physical thing, and he couldn't shrug off the feeling of heaviness.

Sam cleared his throat again and pawed at the tightness across his chest. "Hey, can I ask you a question?" he said.

She cast an amused look back. "Hit me."

"It's about that time you possessed me."

His voice was hesitant, and she made an impatient gesture without turning around. "What about it?"

"I just…I was wondering…" He took another long pull of water. "Would you really have raped Jo?"

She stopped so suddenly that he stumbled into her. Her small body was rigid, and she made a slow, jerky spin toward him. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Um. Well, I…yeah. I am. It's bugged me, because Jo was my friend, and I liked her. She was like a sister or something."

Meg pushed her bangs off her forehead as her mouth curled in a sardonic smile. "And, what? After that you couldn't stop all your naughty little thoughts about her?"

He gaped. "It's not funny, Meg!"

She stepped into him, and he could feel her fury like a hot wave. "I'm not laughing, princess." She whirled away and stalked off, and he hurried after, tripping as he went over hidden rocks and crevices.

"Would you slow down? Come on, Meg, it's a legitimate question."

She stopped again, but this time he was ready for her. He hovered just behind her and waited. Something about the set of her shoulders told him she was wrestling with something, and trying to force it out of her might get him a knife to the gut. She rotated her bad shoulder like it was bothering her and fiddled with a dangling strap of her backpack.

When she finally spoke, her voice was halting and strange. "I was fucked up back then, Sam. I'd just crawled my ass outta this shit hole. I hated you and Dean so fucking much I can't even... No, I wasn't going to…do that…to her. I just wanted you to think I was."

"What about killing that hunter? What was that about?"

She breathed out a laugh. "Oh, that? That was just to piss you off and make everyone else hate you almost as much as I did. Worked, right?"

He blinked, then narrowed his eyes at the back of her head. "Why does the idea of hurting Jo make you so upset, but killing a man is no big deal?"

She looked back, her green eyes dark in the unsteady beam of his flashlight. Her mouth was twisted, and something about her expression felt like a punch to the gut. "I've never been murdered before," she said in a quiet voice.

He stared at her. "Meg—"

She threw out a hand and started down the path again. "Crowley had me for over a century, big boy. Sometimes he got bored of cutting. I don't really wanna talk about it, and if you breathe a word to anyone, I'll string you up by that pretty flowing mane of yours. Got it?"

"Yeah, Meg," he said as she disappeared around a corner. "I got it."

"And for fuck's sake, _keep up_!" she called.

He shoved the last of the fruit leather in his mouth, ducked his head, and did as he was told.

* * *

Sam opened his eyes and stared around at another unfamiliar hotel room. Where were they now? Minnesota? Oregon? Kansas? He honestly couldn't remember. As he searched his memory, the last clear picture was…huh. Some weird-ass dream about strolling through Hell with a demon chick.

Right. Like Dad would ever let that happen.

Sam checked the bedside clock and saw that it was almost 3AM. Where were Dean and Dad? They should be back by now. It was just a simple salt and burn, and he was sure he'd told them the right cemetery.

He pulled himself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Splashed water on his face that wouldn't turn any cooler than lukewarm no matter how long he ran the tap. Okay, probably not Minnesota, then. Despite its temperature, the water was tempting: he felt a nagging thirst, and he was sure the only thing that would quench it was a long gulp of crummy motel tap water.

His mouth quirked at one corner and he shut the flow off. It smelled strange—a little sulfury—and the scent turned his stomach. Reminded him of demons. He'd had enough of demons for one lifetime, thanks. He turned away from the sink and reached for his phone. He'd brought up Dean's number and was about to hit _send_ when the door opened.

John staggered in, and he was supporting a nearly unconscious Dean. Sam's phone tumbled from his suddenly numb fingers and hit the ground. Bits of plastic went everywhere, but he ignored them. Dean's face was covered in blood, and his shirt was shiny with it.

"Holy shit, what happened?" Sam cried.

"Quit standing there and help me get him to the bed."

Sam shook himself and rushed over, leaping a chair as he went. He propped his shoulder under his brother's other side and together he and John got Dean to one of the beds. Sam clutched at his head a moment (part of him thought his hair should be longer, but that was a really bizarre thing to think, so he shoved it away) and stared down at his brother. His face was white, and the blood was a livid contrast in the light John flipped on.

"We ran into some trouble. The bones you sent us to weren't the right ones, and when we went back to the house, the damn thing flipped out and attacked us. What have I told you, Sam? Double check. _Triple_ check!"

He stared up at his father and gulped through his parched throat. "I'm sorry, sir. I thought—"

"I don't care _what_ you thought, Sam! You were wrong, and now Dean's barely hanging on. Where were you anyway? Dean said you were meeting us at the cemetery. We waited and you never showed, and then you didn't answer your phone. That's why we went to the house without you."

He glanced back at the phone in question and shook his head. "I don't know, sir. I had my phone on. I don't…" He had very little memory of anything before he fell asleep, and John's words didn't make any sense.

"We need to get Dean patched up," Sam said. That was something he could focus on.

John threw out his hands and glared at his younger son. "Look at him, Sam! Do you think dental floss and Jim Beam are gonna be enough here?"

His dazed eyes drifted down to Dean's too-still form and back up to his angry father. "I…then we should get him to a hospital. Why are we standing here arguing when he's bleeding to death?"

His face turned harsh, and his voice deepened with scorn. "It's too late. He's lost too much blood. Where _were_ you, Sam?"

"Dad, no. We've just gotta get him to a hospital! He's…" As Sam stared, he realized Dean's chest wasn't moving, and he panicked. He pressed his ear to Dean's mouth, but silence was his only answer. "He's not breathing. I'm gonna do CPR." He reached to tilt his brother's head back, but John grabbed his wrist in an iron grip and twisted him around.

"It's _too late_, Sam! He's dead. He's dead because you didn't do your job. How many times do I have to tell you? How many times are you gonna let me down? Now Dean's dead, and it's because _you_ can't get your head in the game!"

Sam lurched back and hit the edge of the other bed. His knees buckled and he sat down hard. The mattress squeaked beneath him, and he grabbed handfuls of the cheap sheets to keep from lashing out at his father. "This isn't my fault. You haven't even told me what happened. You guys couldn't handle one pissed off spirit? Come on."

His ragged tone belied his words, and John…_leered_. That was the only word for it. "Oh, Sam, you think you're so clever. Mr. Research, right? That's bullshit, Sam. You're _weak_. Weak and arrogant and now your brother is dead because of it. I should've just let you leave after all."

He lifted his head. "Leave?"

"When you wanted to go to Stanford, have a 'normal' life. As if our lives could ever be normal. So naïve, Sam."

Something about John's voice was familiar, and not familiar like his dad. Familiar like.… Sam raised a shaking hand to his temple and pressed against the pain that pounded there. "I don't understand what's happening," he murmured.

"I'll tell you what's happening, kiddo: you're damned, and this is Hell!" John (or, more accurately, the _thing_ wearing John's face) threw back his head and laughed long and loud, a maddening shriek of mirth that curdled Sam's blood and left him icy cold.

Meg's voice didn't come to save him this time, and as the room collapsed around him, Sam felt a searing, agonizing pain in his chest and slid to the floor in a broken heap.

* * *

_Eep! Our lil Sammikins! Hopefully I'll be quicker with an update next time so he won't have to linger in agony for too long._

_I dropped some serious mythology bombs on you w/ this chapter, but I had to figure out how to make Lilith the first demon without her having been human, or having been created a demon (as some versions of the story tell it)._

_Reviews get you 10 minutes alone with the Hunter (or angel, whatevs) of your choice. And...go!_


	7. Pieces

**a/n: **I'm excited about this chapter, guys. It might seem like not a lot happens, but it sets up prreeetty much everything else for the rest of the story.

* * *

**Chapter 7: Pieces**

**Maybe it would do me good  
If I believed there were a god  
Out in the starry firmament.  
But as it is that's just a lie  
And I'm here eating up this boredom  
On an island of** **cement.**  
_-_David Gray, "Ain't No Love"

Meg knew she was dreaming, but she had no idea how to wake up. The pain in her shoulder was a blaze all the way through her. She reached for it, but the heat of her own skin kept her from touching. She panted and swiped a hand across her eyes. Where was she? Where was Sam? She had to get to him.

She rose on shaky legs and looked around. She was in a…garage of some kind. Old cars were up on blocks, and the air smelled of grease and metal. What could they possibly find to torture her with in a mechanic's shop? _Besides the obvious_, she thought with a glance at the tool rack.

She skirted a junked car and realized the place was a wreck. Windows were shattered. Hoods were dented. Tools were scattered everywhere. As she wandered among the mess, she shook her head. What was this? Why had she been brought here?

"I called you," a voice said. Meg spun around, hand instinctively reaching for the angel blade. It was gone, and she cursed.

"Wouldn't have done you much good anyway," the woman said. She took two steps into the light and gestured. "I'm already dead."

Meg turned her head. "Oh," she said. The woman's body was sprawled across the hood of a car. The lights gleamed off her drying blood and the bright red of her hair. Scorched angel wings ruined the paint job, and Meg's mouth curled a little. "Lemme guess. Winchesters?"

She nodded. "I don't really blame them, though. I was trying to kill their parents."

Meg swung back, gaze sharp. "Their parents? What, you were stabbed by a toddler?"

"Hardly," she said. She rolled her eyes. "I was sent back to kill John and Mary Winchester before she could give birth to them. Cas sent them after me, and…I failed."

"You're Anna," Meg said.

Her big eyes widened. "How do you know my name?"

She hitched her good shoulder and smiled, feeling more at ease and surer of herself. "Cas told me all about you. We're sort of…friends, featherbrain and me."

Anna's mouth pursed. "I see. What did he tell you?"

She hesitated. Truth, or sarcasm and bitterness? "You fell because you wanted to. He admired that about you. After he was recalled to Heaven he turned on you. When you came back, you were different. Changed. He always blamed himself."

Truth, then, and she wasn't sure why. Cas' sister or not, Meg didn't owe this angel anything. She tossed her hair back and smirked. "Also heard about you and Deano in the back of a certain classic muscle car."

Anna's eyes slid away, and Meg would swear she blushed. "Castiel sure is chatty," she said.

"Uh huh." She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "You gonna tell me why I'm here, or do we have to play twenty questions?"

She moved closer. "I'm here to help…Meg. That's what you call yourself, isn't it?"

"Yep," she said laconically.

"I know your true name."

"I'm sure you do. It's not exactly a secret. Just long and hard to say."

Her mouth quirked before her eyes darkened and her lips thinned. "You know this is a trap, don't you?"

Meg's shoulders went tense, and she forced herself to relax. "That's why I'm here. I'll keep him safe."

Anna took another step, and now she stood close enough for Meg to smell her: wildflowers and ozone, with a hint of something darker. "I didn't mean a trap for _him_, Meg." She lifted a hand and rested it on Meg's bad shoulder. Meg struggled to hide a wince and tried to shrug her off, but her hold was firm. "Be careful here. Stay away from Crowley. Vengeance is tempting, but to try now will only get you killed."

"Why would you help me?" Meg said through a mouth gone dry.

"Castiel is my brother. Despite all that happened between us, I still love him. I don't want him hurt."

"And you're saying my death would hurt him?"

"Yes. Of course it would. But that's not exactly what I meant."

Meg waited, but Anna stayed silent, her big dark eyes trained on Meg's face. Finally she made an impatient gesture. "Come on, red, spill. I don't have all day."

She sighed and turned away. The light fell around her like soft rain, illuminated her hair like a halo. "When Castiel was dragged back to Heaven, he was reprogrammed. The same thing happened to me, only worse. He was able to fight it, but I didn't even know it had happened. I _became_ the new software." Her gaze fell on her splayed body, and she ran a finger through the ash of her wings.

"This could have been Cas," she continued. "It still could be. He's fighting his programming again, and right now he's winning…but that could change."

"You're talking about Naomi," Meg said.

"Yes. He may think she's neutralized, but she's not. He needs to be careful."

"He knows that. Plus he's got me watching out for him."

"Except you're not there…are you?" She pinned Meg with her ochre gaze, and the demon squirmed. "You're here, protecting Sam Winchester. Helping him with these trials. Has anyone spoken to you about the consequences of what the Winchesters mean to do?"

"Crowley gets sucked back in and never let out? That's kinda the bottom line for me."

She sighed again, and the ash swirled away. "It's so much more than that. There's a balance here, Meg: Heaven and Hell, good and evil, light and dark. What happens when one side is taken off the board?" She reached into her pocket and pulled something out. Tossed it to Meg, who nearly bobbled it.

She spread her fingers and stared down at the angel's gift. It was a queen from a chess set. Made of obsidian black as Styx, and when she turned it, the light sparked out red flame in its heart.

"The queen is the most powerful piece on the board, yet the object of the game is to take the king."

"Usually the game's over when a queen's captured," Meg said with a droll twist to her lips.

The light flashed off Anna's teeth as she inclined her head. "Now you begin to understand."

Meg squeezed the queen and ran her thumb over the smooth surface where her face might be. "How did you get here? I've never seen an angel in Hell before."

"Oh, I'm not _here_ here. I was just sent here."

"Yeah? Who would do something like that? Takes some pretty major balls."

She shrugged and offered a serene smile. "A mutual friend." Anna raised her chin like something caught her attention, and her expression turned troubled. "I should go. Your Winchester needs you."

"I don't think we're through here."

"We are, believe me."

"Wait, don't you want this back?" Meg held out the queen, but Anna shook her head.

"Keep it," she said. "Consider it a reminder." Another swirl of ash, and she was gone. Meg stared around the smashed body shop with a puzzled scowl. Of all the fuckery…

She huffed out a breath and tucked the chess piece into her pocket. The world around her began to fade (it hadn't been a true dream, really) and when she opened her eyes she was back in the tunnel. Sam was slumped against the wall, and his skin was toadstool pale. She reached for him and hissed before she even touched him: he was burning with fever, far higher than his body could maintain.

She unscrewed the lid on her canteen and scooted closer. "Moose, come on. Now's not the time to be sleepin' on the job. We got miles to go."

He didn't stir. She pressed the canteen against his lips and tilted his head back. His mouth fell open and water trickled in. She watched with clenched teeth until he swallowed. "Good, Sam, that's good. Now open your eyes. Whatever it is, it's not real. Remember? It's not real. You gotta wake up."

He didn't stir, and she knew whatever had him this time was much stronger than before. They weren't playing games anymore. "Fuck," she muttered. Her brow creased, and she dabbed the sweat off his forehead with a distracted glower. There was one thing, but she didn't even know if she could do it.

She drew in a deep breath, and the foul stench of Hell singed her lungs. She was getting soft, she thought with a wry smile. She wasn't sure how much that bothered her, if it did at all. Shaking her head, she tugged Sam down so that he was stretched out flat and knelt beside him. "Okay, kid, here goes."

Meg pressed her mouth to his and inhaled. He tasted, she thought distractedly, like mint mouthwash and apple fruit leather, with a slight metallic tang leftover from the canteen. She inhaled again, and this time she felt something shift inside of him, a darkness bubbling to the surface. She turned her head and spat a black, sulfury cloud.

She dipped her head again, and this time she breathed into him. She'd never done this before, and she worried she might be doing more harm than good…but the wound in her shoulder was made of pure Grace. Surely it would help.

Light seeped around the seal their mouths made, and just when she thought it was pointless, he sputtered and shoved her away. He was weak, but she let him, and she hit the wall harder than she should have. "Ow," she said.

His head whipped back and forth, and he rubbed a shaking hand across his mouth. "Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. I was in a hotel room, and Dad was there, and Dean. Dean was dead, and Dad—"

She waved a hand. "No time for your Maury moments, big boy. We gotta get moving."

"What did you do to me? Did you…Meg, did you _kiss_ me?"

Her lips curved. "Why? You feelin' all tingly?"

"What? No, I…"

She lifted her brows, and he pulled a face. "Let's just go." He struggled to stand, and she dragged herself to her feet and helped him up.

"A few more of those, sugarpie, and I don't know how long we'll last."

He coughed, and she held out the canteen. He took it with a wordless nod of thanks and drained it. "Whatever you did, thanks. I feel better than when I passed out."

"Thank me when we're topside. It's possible I made things worse. What? Don't look at me like that. I didn't have much choice, short of carrying your big ass down to the cells and picking out the first 'innocent' soul I saw. I got a bum wing, in case you forgot, and I don't prefer heavy lifting."

She spun away and took two steps before his voice stopped her. "I can see it."

She froze, but her tone was neutral when she said, "See what, princess?"

"Your true form," he said. "And the crack in it. Grace bleeding through like the sun around a curtain."

Meg jerked her chin toward him. "Goin' all poetic on me now? Please spare me."

He grimaced. "Sorry. I just meant…I'd just like to know what's happening to me."

"I don't know exactly," she said after a moment. "Some of it is just being here, but some of it is because of those trials."

He took several wavering steps toward her, and she rolled her eyes. She moved into him and wrapped an arm around his waist. "Lean on me, gigantor. I'm stronger than I look."

Gratefully he let her take some of his weight, and together they moved on. "Will I live through this, Meg?" he asked after a while.

She glanced up at him, eyes sharp. "You'll live through Hell, kid; I made a promise about that. As for the rest of it?" She shrugged her bad shoulder and winced. "That's anybody's guess. It sure as fuck won't be easy, though."

"No," he said with a sour expression, "I didn't really think it would be."

* * *

Cas spoke the last few words of the ritual and put the book aside. He, Kevin, and Dean stared at the box like their willpower alone could open it, but for a long time nothing happened.

"Should we try it again?" Kevin said.

"Just wait," said Cas.

A few more minutes passed, and then the lockbox started to glow. Dean reached for it, but Cas grabbed his arm. "Don't."

Dean could feel heat radiating off the bright metal, so he didn't have to be told twice. There was a strange thumping from inside it, and then everything went still. The glow faded, and Dean blinked. "That it?"

"We should be able to open it now," Cas told him.

"With a crowbar?"

"Yes. You won't encounter the same difficulty as the last time."

"Great," Dean said. He went after the old lock with the crowbar, and after only a few sturdy smacks, the lock shattered. Dean grinned. "Let's see what's in the box."

He lifted the lid, and the three of them leaned over the table to peer inside. They stared hard, and for a long time no one spoke.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Dean said.

"Am I hallucinating again, or…?"

"No, kid," Dean said, "it's fucking empty! All that work for a shitty box with nothing in it? What the hell, Cas?"

His face twisted, and he cocked his head to the side like a curious bird. "I don't understand."

"Join the club. You said there was something in here, something important."

"There _is_," Cas insisted. "I can sense it."

"So where is it?" Kevin said.

Cas dipped his hand in the box, and where the metal bottom should have been, his fingers met no resistance. He reached further until he was up to his elbow. His shoulder. Dean and Kevin boggled, but the angel seemed unfazed.

"It's some sort of portal," he said.

"To where? The Twilight Zone?"

"I'm unfamiliar with that location." Cas shook his head, an expression of concentration molding his brow. "This is not hoodoo. I'm unsure how Remy could have accomplished such a thing."

"Maybe it wasn't Remy. Maybe he was just holding it for someone else."

"Yes," Cas said, "that seems likely. Ah, here's something." He pulled his arm out and offered them what he'd found. It was a scroll, the ends capped in gold, and sealed with a complicated impression stamped in wax.

"What is it?" Dean said after a moment.

"It's a tablet," Kevin said. He reached for it, and Cas handed it over. "I can tell."

"It doesn't look like a tablet. It looks like a scroll."

"Don't be so literal," Kevin said. "Whatever it is, tablet or scroll, it's got my name all over it."

"He is the prophet, Dean. He knows what he's talking about."

"Should I open it?" Kevin said, his weary glance passing between hunter and angel.

"Go for it, kid. We've got you covered."

Kevin nodded and slid his thumb under the seal. It broke open with an enormous _crack_ that shook the walls and rattled their teeth. He nearly dropped it in his surprise, but at the last minute his fingers clenched tight on the ancient parchment. "What was that?" he said, breathlessly.

"That was the voice of an angel," Cas said. He swallowed hard and straightened his shoulders. "It was…a warning, of a sort, but also a welcome."

"What do you mean, _welcome_?" Dean said with an uneasy glower.

"The scroll was meant to be opened by a prophet. It was…saying hello."

Dean made a face. "Great. _Mary Poppins_-style boxes. Talking scrolls. What's next? Fucking flying monkeys?"

"Why would you fornicate with a flying monkey, Dean?"

"That's not…never mind. Kev, you think you can give us the skinny on that thing?"

"Of course I can," he said. "But, look, it's taken me months to get this far with the demon tablet." He shook the scroll, and several feet rolled out before he stopped it. He stared down the length with dull, dispirited eyes. "This thing could take years."

"Start with the intro. I just want an idea of what we're dealing with." Dean studied Kevin a moment. "I'm sorry, Kevin. I know this sucks, but somebody died to protect this thing, and Crowley was having a hissy fit tryin' to get it. That makes it seem pretty important."

"Yeah, Dean, I know," he said. "It's always important."

Cas stirred. "Kevin—"

Dean held up a hand to hush him. "Just do what you can, okay? That's all we're askin'."

He gave a tired nod and settled down with the partially unrolled parchment and his notebook. "I'm on it," he said. "I'll let you know when I find something."

* * *

Sam stumbled and they both nearly went down as a tremor shook the passage. Dust and debris rained down, and he grabbed Meg and pushed her into the wall. Covered her with his bigger body and winced as rocks bounced off his shoulders.

"I'm a demon, you idiot," she hissed. "I can handle a little earthquake."

"I'm bigger," he said.

"No shit." But she shut up.

Finally the shaking passed. Sam stepped back, and they both spent a while beating the dust out of their hair and off their clothes. Sam offered her a sip from one of the canteens, and she accepted with a grudging smile. He swished water around in his mouth and spat, then nearly doubled over in another coughing fit.

"What was that?" he said when he finally had enough breath.

She looked uneasy, though she tried to hide it with a nonchalant shrug. "Who knows? Might be some remodeling going on."

He studied her face with a worried frown. "Remodeling. Right."

She met his look with shadowed eyes. "Whatever it was, it probably wasn't good for us. It never is." She cleared her throat and handed him back the canteen. "We should keep moving."

"You're a slave driver."

"I'm saving your ass, big boy, and don't you forget it."

"Ha," he said with a wan grin. "As if you'd let me."

* * *

_I struggle to write Sam, but I am enjoying his growing relationship with Meg._

_I wonder what's in the scroll?!_

_Reviews get you cookies and tacos and homemade banana pudding. Also I made chicken and dumplings._


	8. Let's Make a Deal

**a/n: **I might. MIGHT. Might. Have reached an epiphany here. That will mean faster updates.

I hope.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Let's Make a Deal**

**Got a heart lost in kindness;  
A mind that's mostly mindless.  
I can hold you up for air.  
I won't let you down, I swear.  
**-Bob Schneider, "Honeypot"

Meg shook Sam's shoulder and he opened his eyes slowly. They were red-rimmed and swollen, bloodshot and exhausted. She frowned down at him and shoved a piece of jerky into his hand. "Eat that and let's get moving."

He sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. It settled back into weary lines, and he swung his head like a wet dog. "Yeah, okay. I'm up." He crammed the meat into his mouth and rose on shaky legs. "I'm up."

"Uh huh," she said. "You look it."

He blinked at her, and his forehead crinkled. "What's wrong?"

She stiffened. "Why would something be wrong, Sammy boy? We're in Hell looking to free a soul. I'm your psychopomp, which means if it hits the fan, I'm the one who goes down. But, you know. Whatever. Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters."

He winced and the crinkles deepened. "We're asking a lot, I know," he said after a moment.

Meg shrugged her good shoulder and turned away. "I volunteered, sugar. No one makes me do a damn thing."

"That's not how I hear it, kitten," a voice said.

Sam opened his mouth—to say what, he wasn't sure—but before he could utter a word, Meg had thrown herself against him. He fell into the wall with a grunt, and she pressed her hand against his mouth. He stared down at her, wide-eyed, and she glared back. "Don't. Say. A. Fucking. _Word,"_ she hissed.

He nodded and she peeled her fingers away from his lips. Squared her shoulders and pasted on a smile. When she turned, her small frame was stiff, but after a deep breath she relaxed and eased into her familiar stance: hip cocked, fingers tucked into her pockets, head tilted.

"Abaddon," she purred. "It's been _so_ long."

Abaddon? Abaddon was…not _dead_, exactly, but trapped. How could she be here? How'd she gotten free? Maybe Meg was wrong. She'd misheard. She hadn't heard Abaddon's voice in _centuries_, so surely.…

He gulped and decided he should probably pay attention.

A demon slithered out of a side tunnel, and Sam shuddered. She looked normal—human, that is, but not the same meatsuit they'd met before—but there was something about her, some…_power_…that made Sam's heart stutter and bowels clench. He realized he was panting, and he shut his mouth with strained effort.

"My darling girl," the demon murmured in a voice like poisoned silk. She glided closer and ran a finger down Meg's cheek. Meg flinched, but only barely. "What is this?" she said. "You've been wounded."

She grinned a little, but Sam could detect the tremor in her voice when she spoke. "Just a scratch. The new king got a little stabby."

The demon she'd called Abaddon snorted. "Crowley. That trumped-up salesman. I could hardly believe it when I heard." She clicked her tongue and turned away. Her cocoa skin caught the light and glowed with a purity completely at odds with their surroundings. She laughed and spun back toward them. Sam thought maybe she wasn't _all there_, like she'd come back…flawed. "My lovely! What are you doing here with that…_thing_? Did you hear what he and his brother did to me?"

"I heard. I'm sure he's sorry. Aren't you, Sam?"

He stood there like a pole until Meg elbowed him. "Ugh! Yeah. I mean, yes. Of course. It was really just a—a misunderstanding. I mean. You know. An accident."

Her eyes narrowed, and her smile made his blood go cold. "An accident. Naturally. One does sometimes _accidentally_ shoot someone in the head with a Devil's trap and then decapitate her. I understand how that can happen."

Sam stuttered out a laugh. "Right? Hazard of the job."

Abaddon's face twisted, and Sam fell back. Meg stepped between them. "Don't touch him," she said in a low voice.

Abaddon paused and stared. "You would dare interfere? After what it did to me?"

Meg let out a long breath and cast a scowl over her shoulder. "He's with me, Abaddon. I'm his guide. If you have a quarrel with him, you take it up with me."

"Psychopomp!" she hissed. "For a _Winchester_!" She snarled, and the beauty of her vessel's face was transfigured into something hideous. Sam felt sick, and he was glad the wall was there to support him. "Why are you here?" she said in a thunderous voice that shook the walls.

"Why are _you_ here?" Meg said, lifting her chin in a challenge. "Sam's right. They dismembered you. Shot you in the skull with a Devil's trap. You shouldn't be here. You _can't_ be here, and there's no fucking way _Crowley_ let you out."

She waved a long-fingered hand. "I was summoned," she said. "I don't know how or by what, but here I am. One minute I was in that old meatsuit—the foxy redhead; you remember, don't you, Sam?—and the next I was here, looking like my old self."

_Her old self_, Sam thought. She was tall—only a handspan shorter than he—with skin the color of fine chocolate and eyes like caramel. Sweet. Like Edmund's Turkish Delight, he thought: so sweet, and everything you'd ever wanted _ever_…until it wasn't anymore.

"I don't understand," he said.

Abaddon turned those blazing eyes on him, and he swallowed. "I mean," he said through a mouth gone dry, "you're a demon, right? Meg said…Meg said demons don't wear their meatsuits in Hell."

She smiled, and now he could see the tips of fangs between her full cranberry lips. "This isn't a meatsuit, darling. This is _me_."

"Oh," said Sam. He looked puzzled.

She lifted a brow.

He cleared his throat. "I just…I thought you were a guy."

She flicked her gaze first to Meg then back to him. She didn't seem angry; just bored. "Humans," she said. "Their minds are so infinitesimally small."

"You're tellin' me," Meg said. Her mouth curved. "But you're still not gettin' this one."

Abaddon tapped a finger against her cheek and studied them. Her gaze was shrewd and deep, and Sam felt like she could see…everything. Not just beneath his clothes, but beneath his skin. Into his bones. His soul. He raised a shaking hand to his head and clutched at his hair.

"Stop," Meg said, a quiet command.

Abaddon's eyes flicked to her, quick and cold as a snake's.

"He's human. You'll kill him."

"And you can't have that, my pet. Can you?" Abaddon said. Her voice was rich with amusement, dripping with it. She touched Meg again, a featherlight brush of fingertips that left a tiny, smoking brand on her pale skin. "Such times we once had," she murmured. "Now to see you reduced to _this_: psychopomp to such a creature; wounded by Grace; marked by…ah, darling, marked by an angel's touch!" She chuckled and shook her head. "To think I lived to see such a thing."

"Let us pass, Abaddon. There are rules here even you can't break."

"Yes, how tiresome. To be a psychopomp is a sacred trust, older even than I. Go on, then." She waved them away as though it hardly mattered. As they passed, she cocked her head. "Though I am curious, sweet darling."

Sam reached for Meg's hand. He didn't like the new tone Abaddon's voice had taken, the silken threat in it. Their fingers clutched, and Meg squeezed, once.

If Abaddon noticed, she didn't react. Instead she took one fluid step closer and leaned down into Meg's face. "Why are you here? You never answered me."

Sam straightened and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Meg. "We're here to free a soul."

He couldn't tell if her surprise was real or feigned. She rocked back and ran her tongue over her bottom lip. "A specific soul?"

"An _innocent_ soul, if you must know," Meg said. "We don't know who, though."

"Hhhmm," Abaddon said. She turned away and paced down the tunnel a bit. When she returned she was smiling in a way neither of them liked, and Sam shifted closer to Meg. She glanced up at him and squeezed his hand again.

"It's a wonderful coincidence, us bumping into each other like this," Abaddon said.

"Is it?" Meg raid, warily.

"Yes, darling! You see, I've been back a little while—several hours—long enough to explore." She shuddered. "I _hate_ the remodel. That idiot Crowley—" She stopped and took a deep breath. "I digress. During my explorations, I happened upon a little lost puppy. Someone you might know, Sam."

He cleared his throat. "I…unfortunately a lot of people I know are dead, but most of them are in Heaven. I don't think I have any friends down here."

Her grin turned feral, and all the warmth drained from her eyes. "Not a _friend_, little Winchester. _Family_." She held out a hand and beckoned toward the tunnel she'd come from. "It's all right, darling," she said in a soothing voice. "You remember Sam, don't you? He's come to take you home."

There was the sound of shoes scuffing against stone, and then a bruised and tattered figure stepped into the wavering light. "Sam?" he said. His voice sounded broken, like he'd spent the past thousand years screaming.

"Holy fuck," Sam whispered. A ringing started in his ears, and there was a black fuzzy ring around his vision. The tunnel narrowed and darkened, and the ringing morphed into a roar. He thought he might vomit or pass out or…die, maybe. Stroke out right here in a shitty tunnel to Hell.

Meg glanced from the young man to Sam and back again. "Sam?" She tugged on his hand when he didn't respond. His sudden pallor alarmed her. She yanked his arm and gave him an elbow to the ribs. "Sam, who is that?"

Her voice floated to him from far away, and when he spoke his words seemed to fight their way out of his closed-off throat. "It's Adam," he said. "It's my brother."

* * *

Abaddon put her arm around Adam and stroked his hair. He looked up at her with dazed eyes. "A family reunion never fails to warm my heart," she said. "I just love them. Don't you?" She glanced toward Meg with a little smirk, but Meg said nothing. Abaddon shrugged. "Oh well. I can understand your surprise, considering where I found him. That nasty cage never did anyone any favors."

If Meg had been human, Sam's grip on her hand would've ground her bones to dust. As it was she felt her meatsuit creak a bit. She clamped her mouth shut and ignored the pain. What was this fuckery? How could Adam be out of the cage? Sam had said he was Michael's vessel. Where was Michael?

"Where's Michael?" Sam said.

Abaddon lifted a brow. "Still in the cage, I would assume. A human getting out is one thing; an angel is…something else altogether."

"He's an archangel, Abaddon," said Sam. "They're incredibly powerful."

"You think I don't know that? Archangels killed my family. I know more about archangels than you could fit into that tiny, pathetic brain of yours, _boy_. Don't _pretend_ to educate _me_ about archangels." Her mouth twisted. "_I was one_."

Sam held himself upright by sheer force of will, and when he cut his eyes at Meg she just tilted her head in a shrug. "The Knights were all archangels. They were transfigured by the Fall."

"Lucifer wasn't," Sam said.

"Lucifer was a special case. Remaining an angel was part of his punishment." Abaddon smirked. "Your God has a strange sense of humor."

Sam huffed out a half-laugh. "Not my God. He left the building a long time ago."

"A crisis of faith. How cute."

"This is all enthralling, really," Meg said before Sam could reply, "but could we focus, please? Where the fuck is Michael? Where is Lucifer?"

Abaddon rolled her eyes and gave Adam a small shove toward them. "Still in the cage, I assume. I've no desire to unleash Michael. Do you?"

Adam whimpered, and Abaddon shushed him with a gentle stroke. "No worries, my sweet. Big brother here will protect you from that nasty archangel. Won't you, Sam?" She pinned him with a look, and he squirmed a little.

"Adam, man, are you okay? I can get you out of here, but Meg said…Meg said after all this time, you'd be…pretty messed up. My soul was only stuck in there a few months, and I barely made it out."

He blinked. "Sam. I remember you."

His smile looked more like a grimace. "Yeah, buddy. Dean and I, we…" He trailed off, and Abaddon flashed a hungry grin.

"What, Sammy darling? You and Dean searched for him? Ripped the world asunder in your search? Turned Hell upside down and ravaged Heaven? Tell him, Sam. Tell him all about it. He's so _eager_ to hear of your _efforts_."

Adam's head pivoted toward her on a stiff neck, and then back to Sam. "Did you look for me, Sam? You got out. I remember that. He came for you, and he left me."

"I know, Adam. I'm sorry. Dean tried to get you out, too, but Death could only get one of us. I was already out—my body, anyway—so he just needed to grab my soul."

"The angel left it behind," Adam said.

His voice was vague and strange, and his eyes had a wandering, glazed quality to them that made Meg deeply nervous. Something was amiss here. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and kept her eyes trained on Abaddon. When the blow came, it would come from her.

"That's right," Sam said. "Cas grabbed me out of the cage, but he left my soul. Lucifer had it for almost a year before Death got it out."

Adam's lips curled in a smile's ghoulish parody. "A year. How…cute."

Abaddon patted his shoulder. "You'll notice a few changes in brother dearest. Though perhaps you won't; you two weren't exactly _close_, were you?"

Sam gritted his teeth. "We never had a chance. We didn't know—"

"Of course. No one's _blaming_ you, Sam. Are we, Adam?"

"No. I would've left me, too. If I'd had the chance to get out, I woulda been gone. No looking back. No picking up strays."

"You're not a stray, Adam. You're my brother. Family matters. We should've done better by you."

Abaddon ran a knuckle along the curve of her eye. "I'm getting _misty_. What a lovely moment. We so rarely get to see such things in our little demesne. Doesn't it just _touch_ you _deep inside_, little one?" she said to Meg.

"Why don't you ever use her name?" Sam said, suddenly annoyed. "She has one, you know."

"A vessel's name," Abaddon said with a sniff. "It's meaningless. Her true name is not for _you_ to know, mortal boy. _She_ is a pureblood demon. The ichor of _kings_ runs through her veins."

Meg slid a hand into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the chess piece in her pocket. A gift from an angel. A reminder. "Well," she said, briskly, "thanks for bringin' the kid this far, but we've got it from here. Right, Sam?"

"Yep," he said. He held out his hand. "Come on, Adam. Let's get out of here."

After a brief hesitation, he reached for his brother, but Abaddon's fingers on his sleeve stopped him. "A moment, love," she said. She glanced toward Meg with a dangerous tilt to her mouth. "How much is this boy worth to you, little psychopomp?"

"No," Sam said. He pushed Meg aside and surged forward. "This isn't a negotiation. I'm here for a soul, and I've found one. We're taking him and leaving, and you can get over it."

"Watch how you speak to me, boy," she said, mildly. A velvet-covered threat.

"You said there are rules. Old rules. You can't hurt her."

"_Hurt_ her? Oh, you chivalrous thing! Why in the _world_ would I _hurt_ her?"

Sam looked around, face twisted in confusion. "What, then?"

Abaddon flicked her fingers at Meg. "Explain it to him, darling. If I try, I might rip his pretty head off his very large shoulders."

Meg cleared her throat and tried to hide a smile. She'd been tempted to do that a few times herself, but this didn't seem the best time to mention it. "She has to let us pass if we want to go deeper into Hell. I'm guiding you _in_, Sam, not _out_. If you take Adam and she promises you safe passage—which she can, by the way—then my job is done."

Sam rested one hand on his hip and threw the other one out in a frustrated gesture. "What does that _mean_, Meg? I'm new, remember?"

She rolled her eyes. "How could I forget? It means she can make me stay."

Abaddon smiled and petted Adam like a puppy. "My love, I would never _make_ you do anything. I'm simply making an offer. You can refuse. I won't even be upset." Her hand clenched around Adam's neck and he squeaked. "I'll have to kill the boy, of course. That doesn't mean I'm _upset_."

"Right. That's just Tuesday."

She laughed. Adam pawed at her fingers, but she only squeezed harder. "You haven't changed in the ways that matter, darling. That thrills me more than you could know. Let the Winchester boy have his dear brother and come home to me. I'll make you all better."

She clenched the chess piece in her pocket and managed a smile. "You should let him go before you do permanent damage," she said.

Sam grabbed Meg's arm and swung her toward him. "You aren't seriously thinking about this, are you?"

"You came here for a soul. You wanted Adam. Seems like a win/win for the Winchesters."

"I'm not leaving without you. Cas—"

"Fuck Cas." Sam's eyes went wide, and Meg leaned into him. "He's an angel, Sammy," she hissed. "And in case you've forgotten, I'm a demon." She pressed something heavy and slick into his hand and stepped back. "Tell that featherbrained cyborg I said go to Hell."

Abaddon slithered forward, her cold beautiful face lit with delight. She lifted Adam's limp hand and dropped it onto Sam's arm. She reached for Meg, and the smaller demon moved toward her. "It's done, then. Go. No one will impede you."

Sam offered Adam a shaky smile before he glared at Abaddon. "What about—"

"I said _go_. I haven't forgotten what you did to me, Sam Winchester. Pray my patience holds." She waved a hand, and Sam grabbed Adam as the tunnel around them spun. They staggered and choked, and when they were finally on solid ground again, Sam recognized it with a sinking heart.

"Where are we?" Adam said, raising his ravaged voice over the scream of gulls and crash of waves.

"Greece," Sam said. "We're in fucking Greece."

He opened his hand and stared down at what Meg had given him. An obsidian chess piece. A queen, to be exact. The sun hit it and caught a spark deep inside, vibrant and red like a little pulsing heart.

"What's that?" Adam said with a frown.

"A key," Sam said. His face was grim. "I just hope Cas knows how to use it."

* * *

_I'm not sure what's happening here._

_But I think I like it._

_Reviews, sweet readers, get you sugar cookies and hot cocoa on a snow day. Also, the snuggle buddy of your choice._


	9. Mist

**a/n: **Whoa, hi there. Fast update, right? Let's hope this keeps up.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Mist**

**What's so funny  
Is I'm scared and lonely,  
And I don't think I'm the only one  
As I watch you drive away.  
**-Bob Schneider, "Changing Your Mind"

Sam prayed, and a moment later Cas and Dean appeared. Adam staggered in surprise, but Sam caught him before he could slip on the slick rocks. "It's okay. You remember Dean and Cas, right?"

Dean blinked and stared. Rubbed a hand against the back of his head. "Adam? Jesus, man, is that really you?"

He wagged a hand back and forth. "Yeah, mostly. I mean, I guess so. It's really bright out here. My head hurts."

"We've got a safe place, buddy," Sam said. "Cas'll take us there. He'll have to touch you."

"Sam," Cas said, "where is Meg?"

Sam's brow creased and his mouth turned down in a grimace. "She stayed behind, Cas."

The angel surged toward him, and Sam fell back against the rocks. "You _left her in Hell_?" His voice echoed, and the earth beneath their feet trembled.

"Fuck, Cas, calm down! Of course I didn't leave her. Not on purpose. Look, it's a long story—"

"Great," Dean said. "Maybe you could tell it somewhere there's a little less bird shit."

Cas glared, and Dean held up his hands. "Whoa, dude, just sayin'."

"We should get Adam to the bunker," Sam said. "I'll explain everything when we get there, Cas, I promise."

His expression thunderous, Cas grabbed Sam with one hand and Adam with the other. He jerked his head, and Dean took the heavy hint and grabbed his shoulder. The air around them rippled, and an eye-blink later they were back in the bunker. Kevin flicked his fingers at them without looking up from the scroll, and Cas immediately turned on Sam.

"Explain."

Cas' tone made Kevin glance up. "Whoa. Did Meg turn into a dude in Hell?"

Cas growled. "This is no time for jokes!"

Dean frowned. "Calm down, Cas. Sam said he'd explain, and he will."

"Where are we?" Adam said.

"Not Meg, I guess," said Kevin.

"He's our brother Adam," Dean told him. "We're also waiting to find out how he's here when supposedly the cage was impenetrable."

"It is impenetrable," Adam said. "Or nearly. It should be. You got in." He pointed at Cas. "And Death. Other than that?" He shrugged. "I don't know what happened. One minute I was in there, everything normal and…awful…and the next I was in a big room. A woman showed up and offered to help me, so I followed her. She took me to Sam."

Dean cast a glance at Sam, brow raised.

"Abaddon," Sam said.

"Whoa," said Dean. "Holy shit. How'd that bitch put herself back together?"

"She didn't. Not exactly. She wasn't in the meatsuit we saw before. It was her 'true form,' I guess. She wasn't sure how she got back to Hell, either."

"Convenient," Dean said with a snort.

"What about _Meg_?" Cas said, voice low and dangerous.

"I'm getting there, Cas. Abaddon offered us Adam when Meg told her we needed a soul. Then she threatened to kill him unless Meg stayed." He looked away and scrubbed a hand over his face. Coughed into his palm.

Adam pointed to the bruises on his neck. "She came pretty close, too."

"Meg stopped her," Sam said when he had his breath back. "She told me to go, and she gave me this." He held out the obsidian queen. "I would've fought for her, Cas, believe me. But Abaddon just…waved her hand…and we were where you found us."

"The knife's no good against her, Sam," Dean said. "You would've gotten your ass killed."

"No," said Sam. "Abaddon couldn't touch me. She could only hurt Meg or Adam."

Cas took the chess piece and studied it with intense midnight eyes and a deeply furrowed brow. "Where did she get this?" he said.

"I don't know. She didn't have it before?"

"Not that I know of," said Cas. He tilted it and watched the red spark flare and die. "What exactly did she say to you?"

Sam glowered and shut his eyes. Slowly, he repeated her words: "_Tell that featherbrained cyborg I said go to Hell._"

"Hum," Cas said. "She does have a way with words."

"She was afraid of Abaddon. When she thought Abaddon was still alive, I mean. She flipped out a little," Dean said. "So why would she stay down there with her when she didn't have to?"

"Abaddon would have killed me," Adam said.

"Meg's a demon," Dean said with a frown.

Cas sighed and rolled his eyes a little. "Meg is your ally, Dean. She agreed to be Sam's psychopomp, and she promised that he would return with an innocent soul. She wouldn't go back on her word. It's a matter of pride with her."

"Agh!" Adam cried.

Kevin shrugged and handed him a towel. "Sorry. Just a little holy water. Had to make sure."

"He wouldn't have been able to get in here if he were a demon, Kevin," Sam said with a grimace.

"Can't be too careful these days," Kevin said.

"Who's this guy?" Adam said as he dried his face. "Another angel?"

"Kevin Tran is a prophet of the Lord," Cas said. "Right now he is very busy, and he certainly doesn't have time to be throwing holy water filled balloons at people."

"I've got a little time," he said under his breath. He ducked his head when Cas scowled at him. "Right, grandpa. Sorry. Back to work."

Adam let out a shaky breath and grabbed a chair to steady himself. "I feel…weird," he said.

"No shit, kid. You've spent the last three plus years in Hell."

He stared at Dean, expression blank with shock. "Over three years? How…?"

He looked so pale that Sam reached for him. He flinched away, and Sam raised his hands. "Sorry. Hey. Breathe, okay? Maybe have a seat."

"Yeah. Yeah." He pulled the chair out and dropped into it. Dean and Sam shared apprehensive looks over his head. Cas was still staring at the chess piece. Kevin had gone back to the scroll.

"So, um, not to be crass or whatever, but is this it? Adam's out, so Sam can say the words and finish the trial?" Dean said.

Kevin shook his head without looking up. "I don't think so."

A silence.

Dean cleared his throat. Shifted his weight. Cas turned to the prophet with a curious gleam in his eyes. Sam just looked tired.

"Uh, Kev? You gonna tell us why not, or do we have to guess?" Dean said.

"Huh? Oh." He waved his fingers in a dismissive gesture. "It's this scroll. There's so much in it and I think I should study it more before we do anything else."

The Winchesters shared an instant of wordless communication before Dean came around the table and slammed his hand on the section of scroll beneath Kevin's nose.

"Hey! Be careful! This thing's delicate."

Dean's jaw was tight as he spoke. "Kevin, I don't care if the Virgin Mary herself wrote this with the blood of a unicorn as the ink and the skin of albino salamanders from outer space as the fucking paper. What the _fuck_ could _possibly_ be written in here that would slow us down from closing the gates of Hell?"

Kevin sat back with a huff and crossed his arms over his chest. "You think I don't want them closed? Once that's done, I'm out. I'm free. I get to go back to…some semblance of my old life. My mom can quit hiding. I can quit being _afraid_ all the time. But, Dean, look. This scroll…it's weird. There's a bunch of stuff about the _cosmic balance_ and _doomed souls_ and…I don't even know. It's like it's…an appendix to the demon tablet. A…I don't know…a _caveat emptor_."

"A king in a tie?"

Sam's mouth thinned. "Not a cravat emperor. Where did you even…? Jesus. He means it's like a list of precautions or warnings."

"Against closing the gates?"

Kevin shrugged. "About the demon tablet in general."

Dean let out a frustrated sigh. "Okay. Well does it say in there why opening it caused an earthquake?"

"The power," Adam said before Kevin could reply.

They all—even Cas—swiveled to look at him. He blanched, but lifted his chin. "You can make jokes about unicorn blood and albino space salamander skin, but that thing's got major power. Scary power. It tastes like archangels."

Cas' eyes narrowed and darted from Adam to the scroll and back again. "What do archangels taste like?"

Adam's mouth twisted in a ghastly smile. "Death. Death by fire. By pain. By bliss. By love. By purity and Grace." He shook his head. "Unimaginable death."

* * *

The fog roiled around her in thick, pearlescent waves, and she batted at it in irritation. She didn't have time for _atmosphere_. With an annoyed sigh that turned into a cough as the fog seared into her lungs, she searched through the dim. He was here somewhere. She knew it. It's why _she_ was here.

She stumbled over something unseen and would have gone done, but a strong hand caught her. "Be careful," a familiar voice said. "It's dangerous to fall here."

Meg slanted a look at the red-haired angel and smirked a little. "It's dangerous to fall anywhere, sugar. Isn't that what Lucifer taught us?"

Anna's brow creased, briefly, and smoothed again. "I Fell too, you know."

"I've heard. The angel who became human and then became an angel again." She shook off Anna's hold and frowned. "You're not who I was looking for."

"I know."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "So why are you here?"

"You were Sam's psychopomp," Anna said as though that explained everything.

"Okay, look, I get that you're dead and all, so eternity is stretching out before you in its endless monotony, but I'm _not_ dead, so do you think we could get the fuck on with this?"

She smiled, a brief quirk of her lips, and shook her head. The fog tangled in her hair and winked like tiny jewels. "You were Sam's psychopomp, and I'm yours. You see?"

"I…" She hesitated. Frowned. "It's a little clearer. But only a little."

Anna's expression turned grave, and her big dark eyes seemed to take up her entire face. "Abaddon could stop all of this."

"All of what? Our clandestine meetings?"

"Your levity is not helping!"

"I'm sorry! Jesus. You're worse than the fucking Cheshire cat. Okay. Abaddon can stop…what?" She considered a moment, her head tilting as the ideas tumbled. "You mean Abaddon could stop the Winchesters closing the gates?"

Anna tapped the end of her nose. "Exactly."

"Is that good or bad?"

Anna sighed, and the fog swirled. "There's a balance, Meg. Heaven and Hell. Good and evil. Light and dark."

She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. "We're casting Heaven as _good_ in this scenario, I assume? Despite all the fuckery that goes on up there. Despite the almost-Apocalypse that _your_ team sponsored whole heartedly."

"Hardly my team, Meg," Anna said with a cynical chuckle. "They tried to kill me, and then they kidnapped me, tortured me, brainwashed me…and Michael served me _en flambé_."

Meg's brow crinkled and she dropped her arms. "Michael did that? Your brother Michael?" She tossed her hair. "You see why I'm skeptical about Heaven being the good guys."

Anna held up a hand. "I get where you're coming from, believe me. But isn't that part of the problem? How corrupt Heaven's become? It's lost its way."

"You gonna help find it?"

"I'm dead, Meg."

"Touché."

A small silence fell. Finally, Anna sighed again, bone-deep and weary. "Abaddon can stop the Winchesters. She can end this ridiculous plot to rip a hole in the cosmic balance that keeps the universe turning. That's why she's here."

Meg's eyes narrowed. "You summoned her?"

"Ha! No. I assume whoever sent me to you brought Abaddon back, as well. I don't know who it is. It's not given to me to know." She said this last with such bitterness that Meg flinched from it.

"Look, I'm cool with not closing the gates, because I don't really want to be stuck down here forever. But I do have two issues. One, I want Crowley gone. Out of the picture. Fucking _dead_, okay? And, two…" She heaved an enormous sigh and pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. "As much as it pains me to say so, I don't want anything to happen to those dumbass Winchesters. I don't want them hurt."

Anna's head tilted in amusement. "Because it would hurt Cas."

"Yes," Meg bit out, "because it would hurt _Cas_. Okay?"

Anna flicked her fingers. "Abaddon will take care of Crowley. I think that's a safe bet, don't you? As for the Winchesters, no one was planning to hurt them. Well. Maybe that was part of Abaddon's plan. But there are other ways to stop them, and that's why you're here."

She rubbed tiredly at her cheeks. "So I'm supposed to help Abaddon thwart the Winchesters' oh-so-carefully-laid plans, thus keeping the gates open. Yeah?"

"That's the sum of it."

She looked away. "They'll never understand."

Anna peered at her. "You care?"

Meg made an impatient gesture, her hand cutting through the fog and scattering it. "_Yes_, I fucking care. I've worked really fucking hard, and—" She stopped and bit down on her lip. "_He_ won't understand."

"You love him," Anna said, wonderingly.

Meg barked out a rough, dry laugh. "I'm a demon, angel girl. I'm incapable of love."

Anna stepped closer. Her fingers were soft against Meg's cheek, but she felt the cold burn of them. "You're a demon touched by Grace. Is love really so strange?"

Meg shook off Anna's touch and stepped back. "I'll do it, I guess," she said. She wanted to say more, but the words died on her lips.

"You gave Sam your queen," Anna said, seemingly apropos of nothing.

She swallowed, throat suddenly thick. "Yeah. I thought Cas could…I thought it might help him. Let him know I wasn't staying…because I wanted to."

"It was good," she said. "Smart. He'll come now."

"Here?" Meg said, head whipping around.

Anna smiled. "Maybe. But to Hell? Almost certainly."

"What—?" But she was gone, and Meg was alone in the heavy fog. "Well that was enlightening," she muttered. With an angry huff, she spun in a circle. Every direction looked the same. She just wanted to wake up.

The fog swirled. Cleared a bit. She squinted, sure she'd seen…

She ran, heedless of unseen obstacles, and as she went the fog eddied and danced. She glimpsed it now and then through the flow and ebb: a flash of khaki. The glint of light off coal-black hair. Maybe, if she listened hard enough, the swish of a coat.

She wanted to call his name, but something stopped her. Was he looking for her? Was he even real?

She dodged some dark, shapeless mass that reared up out of the soup and nearly smacked into him. He reached to steady her, but his hands passed through as though she were part of the mist.

"Cas," she whispered, gasping.

"Meg." His brows drew together. "I can barely see you. What is this place?"

"I think we're dreaming."

"We don't dream."

"Always so practical, Clarence," she said with a droll lilt.

He frowned. "You let Sam leave you behind," he said in a low voice.

"I had no choice. Winchester number three was under the knife."

"There must have been some other—"

"No, Cas," she said, "there wasn't. Abaddon doesn't exactly negotiate."

"What does she want from you, Meg?"

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I imagine she wants me to help her stage a coup. Then, probably stop you guys from closing this place down."

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. "What will you do?" he said at last.

"Help her, I expect," she said, quietly.

He stared. "Meg—"

"Don't, feathers. Don't start. I'm a demon, kid. It's what I've always been. You're an angel and I'm a demon and we've always known we were on opposite sides of this fight."

There was a long silence while he studied her with piercing blue eyes. She struggled not to fidget under that stripping gaze, and finally he looked away. "I told you once that I would have ripped Hell asunder to find you…if only you had asked. Do you remember?"

Her mouth quirked, and she tried to hide how her lips trembled. "How could I forget?"

"I meant it, Meg. I still do."

"I know you do," she said.

"Then why…?"

"There are things I have to do, Clarence. Don't you see? I have a role to play here."

His eyes blazed and his Grace flared. He tried to grab her, but she was like smoke. "Dammit, Meg, you have a role to play with _me_. We have a role to play _together_!"

"That's sweet, feathers, but I—"

"No," he growled. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to act glib and unconcerned. This matters to you. You hate Hell. You owe Abaddon no allegiance. Why are you doing this?"

She took a step back. Twisted away. "Sam give you the queen?"

"Yes," he said, "I have it."

"Good." Her green eyes met his midnight blue ones. "Keep it, Clarence. You might need it one day."

He choked out a strange sound that fell somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "Why would I need one chess piece, Meg? What good is it?"

Her lips curled. "If I decide to call, how else will you find me?"

He lunged for her, but this time when her image swirled through his fingers it faded and disappeared. He stumbled and fell to his knees, the sharp stones cutting his palms like knives. He hissed from the pain, and the fog lapped greedily at his face.

He was alone in the cold dark damp, and his blood burned as it dripped.

* * *

Meg came to with a start. Abaddon was there, smiling down at her, and Meg felt her blood go cold.

"Rest well, little one?" she said with a chilling smile.

"Fantastic. Not sure _why_ I slept, but—"

"It takes rest to heal, my love." She tutted. "This nasty little wound of yours…hum. It's gone untreated much too long."

"It only happened two days ago," Meg said.

"Hm? Oh! You mean the…no, not that, darling. _That_ is merely a symptom. By rights you should have died from it—angel blades are always fatal to demons, as far as I know—but you were protected by this…" She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "This _spark_ within you. Like a flaw in a perfect chunk of obsidian."

Meg kept the slight surprise from her face as she sat up. "You're going to cure my, er…my spark?"

"Of course! You don't want such a vile thing anyway, do you?" Abaddon's tone was mild, but there was a light in her caramel eyes that blazed bright as a beacon.

Meg licked her lips and tried a smile. "Of course not. I'm a demon, after all."

"Yes," Abaddon said, "one of the last of the purebloods now that poor Lilith and Azazel are gone. Shame, that." She paused, then waved it away. "No matter. First, my dear, we work on getting you well. Then we go after that trumped-up salesman."

"I'm all for taking down Crowley, but do you think we can wait that long?"

Abaddon's brows flicked upward. "What do you mean?"

"Crowley has something going on with Naomi, this angel who apparently brainwashes other angels into doing her dirty work. They're cooking something, but I don't know what. Also, the Winchesters are trying to close the gates."

Abaddon dismissed that with a flick of her fingers. "Of course they are. Why else would the big one be down here looking for an innocent soul?" She tapped a fingertip against her cranberry mouth. "Crowley in league with an angel. That _is_ interesting." Her eyes narrowed. "Would you happen to know any angels, my sweet?"

Meg rolled her eyes. "A couple. Dead now."

"All of them?" Again that neutral tone that signaled so much danger.

She swallowed and straightened her jacket. "No, not quite. There's…there's one. He's useless, though. Cut off from Heaven."

"In my experience, sweet girl, there's no such thing as a useless angel. Would he come if you called?"

"I'm a demon, Abaddon."

"Yes. That makes two of us." She stepped closer and leaned in, her smooth brown face set in tense lines. "Only one of us, however, is touched by Grace. Only one of us reeks of _angel_. And guess which one it is?"

Meg struggled not to squirm. She raised her chin and smirked. "You want an angel? I'll get you one."

"I know you will, my dear. I know you will."

* * *

_I'm not entirely sure what Abaddon has planned, but I know that the boys won't like it. I guess we'll find out together!_

_Reviews, loves? I'll bake you gingerbread cake and serve it warm with vanilla ice cream!_


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